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October 18, 2017October 17, 2017

BREVIEW: 5 Soldiers – The Body is the Frontline @ 48 Signal Squadron Army Reserve Centre 14.10.17

Words by Lucy Mounfield / Production pics by Tim Cross

“You’re dead!”– this eerie and flinchingly realistic command comes from the drill sergeant (Reece Causton) during the opening section of Rosie Kay Dance Company’s 5 Soldiers: The Body is the Frontline.

For a minute or two I found these alienating shouts disturbing and disorientating – frequently looking round the room for an enemy attack. What am I watching, a troop of soldiers on drill manoeuvres or five dancers? Combining the haunting atmosphere of the Army Reserve Centre in Sparkbrook with Kay’s athletic choreography, 5 Soldiers fuses the macho world of the army with contemporary dance and blurs the boundaries between reality and spectacle.

In most theatrical dance productions, the themes of conflict and war have been portrayed as a series of synchronized movements mapped out as a struggle between good and evil. Traditional three-act ballets such as Kenneth Macmillan’s Romeo and Juliet utilise formation set pieces to depict fencing and gang violence, for example, and these tend to follow the clinical pattern of formal choreographic tropes. Traditionally, dance had no place for realism; choreography became a means to tell a story. 5 Soldiers does the opposite, mixing army training techniques with the robotic bold lines of Kay’s choreography to create an immersive experience.

What sets 5 Soldiers apart from traditional productions is the fact that there is no discernible enemy. The dancers react and respond to the invisible. Here, this alienating and intimate setup allows Kay to explore the inner workings of the soldier free from narrative constraints. Using the simple tripartite structure following three basic elements of an army career enables the performance to focus on the brutal physicality of being a soldier, an existence that is unforgiving of gender roles.

The second section of the production develops the camaraderie and relationships between soldiers. In training and combat a soldier is a soldier regardless of gender, but during down time this becomes problematic. This is shown in an uncomfortable sequence wherein the only female officer (Harriet Ellis) strips down to her underwear whilst dancing to Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’. She slowly takes away the armour and makeup that dehumanizes her, her camo gear strewn to one side.

Here, she and her male colleagues wrestle with their duty and their desires. What plays out during the song is not so different to the military drills in the first section – high leg kicks and sharp staccato lines – but without the regalia and insignia of the armed forces. Stripped bare, performing the splits in front of her male peers she becomes sexualised and offers her gender more freely than before. In another way, this is another layer of armour to protect herself from the physical differences between her and the others.

This second part also makes clear the awkward tension between soldiers’ public and private selves. The machismo gestures in this scene are clearly driven by their vulnerability. They pursue the female soldier until they realise their actions are inappropriate. However, from here they turn to her as a mother figure, highlighting their reliance upon gender stereotypes and the emotional outlet that they lack.

The men remorsefully hold Ellis aloft on their shoulders as if she is sitting upon a throne. They march alongside her whilst Causton moves his hands as if to crown her. Fantasy is a key aspect of 5 Soldiers; everyone has projected their fantasy of protection, Britain-as-mother and their duty to her, onto the female soldier. The men want to be everything at once; action man, hero, lover, protector and father but this comes at a cost.

The third and last section of the piece shows one of the soldiers being shot (Duncan Anderson), as a result of which he undergoes a double amputation below the knee. The other dancers bind his legs, and a brief sequence shows him re-learning how to move in his altered body, at first supported by his comrades and then alone. For me this exemplifies where 5 Soldiers is at its best, but also raises questions. One connects with the subjective experience of amputation, of trauma, almost of being born again into a strange new body. The hardships and complexities of existing as a woman in a man’s world are vividly and intelligently rendered.

But this focus also results in the erasure of the outside world. Our soldiers are on patrol in a country that is strangely empty, full of danger but devoid of subjectivity – the mere backdrop of their personal stories. It is confusing that the marketing material makes the claim that 5 Soldiers ‘offers no moral judgment on war’.

I think this obscures the real point that 5 Soldiers isn’t about war as such, it’s about the human and bodily element of combat. But then this tour is supported by the British Army; tonight’s performance was hosted in an Army reserve base. Why? Clearly for the Army this is a public relations exercise, to ‘engage’ people and break down barriers as was made clear in the post-performance discussion. But 5 Soldiers is not reducible to that; it stands on its own as a nuanced depiction of military life.

5 Soldiers – The Body is the Frontline / Rosie Kay Dance Company

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I93cQr9LtlY

For more on 5 Soldiers: The Body is the Frontline, visit www.rosiekay.co.uk/5-soldiers

For more on Rosie Kay Dance Company, visit www.rosiekay.co.uk

For further details on the Army Reserve Centre (Golden Hillock Road, Sparkbrook, B11 2QG), visit www.army.mod.uk/join/37787.aspx

For more from the Birmingham REP, including full event listings and online ticket sales, visit www.birmingham-rep.co.uk

October 12, 2017

BREVIEW: Daphne @ mac 13-19.10.17

Words by Heather Kincaid / Production shots by Agatha A. Nitecka

Daphne was screened in Birmingham as part of the Flatpack: Assemble project, bringing industry showcases to the city. Daphne will be further screened to the general public at mac from Friday 13th to Thursday 19th October – for direct information, including showtimes, venue details and online ticket sales, click here.

The amorphous structure of Peter Mackie Burns’ feature-length directorial debut perhaps owes something to its origins in a 2013 11-minute short, Happy Birthday to Me. But there’s something oddly compelling about Daphne’s resistance to following cinematic convention, as though, much like its title character, it refuses to be pinned down and made to stick to a single, clearly defined course.

Cinematography by Adam Scarth feels as restless and detached as its subject, both moving passively from one scene to the next, apparently without much sense of where they’re going. And though some inevitably will, viewers aren’t asked to sit in judgement on the character or her story but merely to observe it.

Self-obsessed, single and spiraling steadily out of control, the misanthropic Daphne is almost as unlikely a ‘hero’ as you could imagine. Though she makes a show of independence, her spikiness is little more than a mask for her unwillingness or inability to take control of the life through which she drifts, instinctively ducking out of any encounter where she detects a whiff of change or serious commitment. Because she hasn’t thought of anything better to do yet, Daphne continues to meet up with old school friends she doesn’t really like, stumbles around in a drunken, drug-fueled haze, lives off takeaways she’s forgotten that she ordered and occasionally hooks up with strange men in whom she has no interest.

But when she witnesses a stabbing in a corner shop and stays to save the victim’s life, well… not much changes, actually. After the event, she takes up the offer of counselling, but not because she’s feeling particularly traumatised by what she’s witnessed. In fact, it’s the complete lack of an impact the incident has on her that makes her acknowledge that perhaps there’s something up. As she says to the therapist in a moment of uncharacteristic honesty, “I haven’t felt alive in a long time.”

In conversations around the film, there’s been a lot of emphasis on Daphne’s gender, whether in the form of comparisons with BBC Three’s Fleabag or in accusations of misogyny levelled at critics passing comment on her ‘likeability’. But while Daphne might be part of a new wave of women in film depicted with more unflinching honesty than we’re accustomed to, she’s certainly not the sort of character who’d see herself as any sort of feminist trailblazer. In fact, she largely fails to see herself as anything very much at all.

Arguably it’s this that makes her seem so resonantly real, but perhaps also is at the root of her sometimes being such uneasy company. Though Daphne’s dialogue is often cutting and she is someone who manifestly refuses to give a shit what anyone else things of her, it’s not so much anything she actively says or does that makes her difficult as it is her total inertia. It’s hard to decide what to make of someone who so clearly doesn’t know what to make of herself. This fragmented sense of self is visually indicated from the off, with a striking image of her descending an escalator beside a wall of mirrored strips that dramatically shatter her shifting reflection. That said, Daphne is so far from being unloveable that a bouncer who kicks her out of a club where she’s been misbehaving is enamoured enough to chase her down, ask her out and then decline her knee-jerk offer of casual sex in favour of pursuing something more meaningful. We see, too, that her friends and family are willing – determined even – to put up with her and remain in her life despite her self-destructive attempts to push them all away.

But quite apart from how her fellow characters respond to her, if you’re intellectually smug enough to laugh at her declaring Slavoj Žižek a “doughnut” as she chucks aside a book that she’s been reading just for fun; or at her revelation that she always thinks of Freud when doing coke, (and let’s face it, if you’re watching this film, you probably are) it’s almost difficult not to find her rather charming, spikiness et al. Then there are her magnificent, enviably spontaneous put-downs. “You, sir, are a fabulous cunt,” she says to bouncer David as she staggers away from him.

Daphne also breaks the mould of the gritty, social realist style of cinema it adopts. Rather than focusing on the disenfranchised working class such films are usually designed to champion, Mackie Burns singles out a member of the expanding modern-day precariat as his protagonist. As a well-educated and possibly once fairly well-off 31-year-old (when she remembers), she could serve as a sort of cipher for the instability and disillusionment of the millennial generation, promised a seat at the feast but fast discovering she’s been left with only table scraps.

At the same time, there are hints that she’s merely treading water above a darker underbelly of urban life, which threatens to flood into her world at any moment. For one thing, there’s the homeless man on the corner she knows by name, and for whom she makes up sandwiches at work. Then of course, there’s the lad who panics and stabs the owner of the shop he’s trying to rob in front of her. He tries to rob Daphne too, but tellingly she’s got nothing on her person he deems worth stealing.

Daphne doesn’t give us any easy answers, but the clues to the residual sense of self the title character still possesses are there to hunt for, littered through the story like a trail of breadcrumbs or scrapped leftovers from whatever concoction she’s been devising in the kitchen. On one level, the film might be considered a dark romantic comedy that comes in too late to fully flesh out one affair, and finishes too early to allow the next to blossom. But perhaps surprisingly, Daphne isn’t entirely without ambition: at the restaurant where she works, she asks chef Joe to make her his sous, only to be dismissed completely out of hand (“It’ll ruin your life”) and not for the first time, it seems. She’s clearly interested enough in the idea to spend her free-time testing recipes at home, admittedly only to wrinkle her nose and bin the lot, but the drive is still there. That she doesn’t press the matter further is mostly due to her complicated relationship with the chef himself, a married man with whom she’s clearly mutually in love.

Unsure how to deal with those feelings, she seeks solace in meaningless sex, while holding potential boyfriend David at arms length. Her view of love, as a deluded human attempt to impose meaning on a random universe, is reiterated often enough to sound as though she’s trying to convince herself, and when David calls her bluff on it he unexpectedly exposes real vulnerability – Daphne suddenly flees the scene like a frightened rabbit. Blink and you might miss it, but it’s also her serious decision to quit the job after Joe ‘fesses up his feelings that heralds the beginning of possible change on the horizon.

Meanwhile, she’s also determined to alienate herself from the one reliable figure in her life; having refused chemotherapy for an aggressive cancer, her mum has instead discovered faith and mindfulness, something which naturally frustrates her daughter. Then there’s the fear and self-doubt Daphne is contending with – in particular, her anxiety over not feeling enough about the man she saved to go and visit him. It takes her therapist to suggest that perhaps just doing something is sufficient, and enough of a feeling might well follow after.

Emily Beecham’s skill is in being able to subtly convey all this, without really saying a great deal that’s to the point. Scriptwriter Nico Mensinga’s razor sharp, bone dry dialogue is hilarious but also constantly evasive – it’s down to Beecham to present the character’s pain without ever soliciting our pity. The performance is at once distant and intimate, cold and moving, laugh-out-loud funny and rather tragic. Daphne lives and breathes through Beecham, lingering on in the mind long after the credits finish rolling, so much that you almost expect to meet up with her in your local pub, or maybe on the train back home.

Emily Beecham is backed up by a strong supporting cast as well, with Geraldine James as her surprisingly vivacious, terminally ill mum, Nathaniel Martello-White as a cheerily optimistic David, and Tom Vaughan-Lawlor as Daphne’s jaded boss and soulmate Joe, who similarly can’t quite work out how his life has ended up like this.

The unsung fifth main character in the film is London itself – a suitably messy and complex companion for Daphne, one vividly captured by Scarth. At times, the camera hones in on the squalor of poverty in England’s capital; at others, it hovers in a sky filled with gleaming clouds and glistening skyscrapers reaching out for something more. The film showcases the rich diversity of London with all its teeming masses, as well as the profound loneliness and anonymity of living there. One particularly striking, slightly hazy birdseye view has the cold, unsympathetic eye of CCTV surveillance, with Daphne staggering past faceless crowds and traffic blurs to create a dizzying, disorienting effect.

Refreshingly then, Daphne is a film that actively resists the conventional cinematic trope of turning points and inciting incidents that change a character’s life for good, instead preferring to just let stuff happen. In real life, epiphanies are generally a long time coming, even if we tend to remember them otherwise after the fact.

Like Daphne herself, the audience is required to sift through the mundane paraphernalia of everyday existence to find the meaning underneath, if indeed there is any. It might not fall in line with standard storytelling techniques, but Daphne is a skillfully drawn character study that provides plenty enough meat to chew on for its full 90 minutes, and long thereafter.

Daphne – a film by Peter Mackie Burns

Daphne will be screened at mac on from Friday 13^th to Thursday 19^th October. For direct information, including showtimes, venue details and online ticket sales, click here.

For more on Daphne, visit www.daphne.film

For more from Flatpack, visit www.flatpackfestival.org.uk

For more from mac, visit www.macbirmingham.co.uk

October 10, 2017

BREVIEW: Absurdly Fabulous: The Improvised Episode @ mac 29.09.17

Words by Charlotte Heap

As an ardent Absolutely Fabulous fan I was apprehensive at how Foghorn Unscripted would reimagine the beloved sitcom in their feature length show, Absurdly Fabulous. Such familiar and favourite characters can be tricky to emulate whilst bringing new laughs, and shows using such well loved source material can depend as much on the audience’s appetite for absurdity as the actors’ talent.

Foghorn Unscripted, a company of local improv comedians and professional actors established in 2011, bases all of its performances on audience suggestion and their own imaginations. Having worked with University of Birmingham’s student improv groups in the past, I hoped that Foghorn Unscripted’s experience would bring a slickness to their show – especially as this particular production had been performed at least once before at mac.

Billed as the ‘episode that was never made’, five actors appeared on the Hexagon’s small stage to present Absurdly Fabulous; with so few female leading comedic roles, having the main characters played by men was an interesting choice. Eddie was excellent, as Foghorn’s Aaron Twitchen brought controlled chaos and quick comedy to the part. Less successful in drag was Patsy, with a focus on her gruff voice and lecherous ways but not enough effort given to the character’s familiar physicality and wit.

The show’s more minor roles were played with varying levels of success by the other troupe members. Saffy suffered somewhat, as Kit Murdoch (Foghorn Unscripted’s founder) played her slightly too saccharine for my taste, with not enough withering sarcasm. Murdoch’s energy was essential to keeping the show moving, but I felt her portrayal of Boris Johnson also missed the mark.

Claire Corfield played Bubbles brilliantly but was underused, whilst Ciaron Allanson-Campbell, noticeably lacking in confidence, was much better cast as the robotic Marshall than as Mother. I was hoping Absurdly Fabulous would elevate the satirical sitcom’s most famous characters, but instead the production delivered caricatures. And whilst Absolutely Fabulous’ trademark catchphrases featured heavily, Foghorn Unscripted were unable to recreate the razor sharp wit of Jennifer Saunders’ writing.

I felt the audience participation element was also more minimal than the Absurdly Fabulous promo material had promised. Scribbled suggestions from some attendees were placed in jars on the stage and incorporated into the show’s framework in a slightly clunky fashion, whilst pictures of audience members were brought into the show after the interval, with a gentle ‘roast’ going down a storm with certain members of the audience. However if you weren’t part of this, and didn’t know what people had been asked to suggest, the participation element was a little confusing and excluding.

The more scripted elements of Absurdly Fabulous landed, again, with varying levels of success. An ‘Alexa’ joke (using pre-recorded responses) was initially inventive and funny, but then felt prolonged and, at points, badly timed. In fact, timing, sound and blocking were all constant issues; the raucous nature of the source material demands a certain level of chaos, but the troupe struggled with minimal props (wig swapping led to awkward delays) and an overdressed set.

A clothes rail collapsed as too many characters made an overzealous entrance, and whilst Eddie made a joke from this mishap, the moment encapsulated the production’s failure to make good use of mac‘s Hexagon Theatre – an intimate space which can be wonderfully manipulated, but one that leaves little room for error. Costume changes in full view of the audience, and occasional difficulties in hearing what was being said, simply added to the unexpected amateurishness. However, the friendly local audience laughed loudly and a lot. But on a Friday evening, with an £8 ticket price, this Ab Fab purist was left a little disappointed. I laughed a little but I cringed more.

Perhaps my fondness for Absolutely Fabulous (alongside my familiarity with improv in my own professional context) led to especially high expectations, but Foghorn Unscripted promised ‘debauchery, fashion and celebrity’ with Absurdly Fabulous and this wasn’t quite delivered. Billed as the ‘episode that was never made’, I felt the improv troupe found the easy laughs but failed to fully explore the humour and potential inherent in such rich source material.

For more on Foghorn Unscripted, visit www.foghornunscripted.com

For more from mac, including full event listings and online ticket sales, visit www.macbirmingham.co.uk

September 29, 2017

BREVIEW: Cult Figure: Kenneth Williams @ The Old Joint Stock Theatre 26.09.17

Words by Helen Knott

What does it mean to be a cult figure? Is it simply someone who is popular with a loyal, but limited, group of people, or does it have connotations of an almost unhealthy devotion?

Cult Figure: Kenneth Williams feels like the work of a fan, someone with a real reverence for Kenneth Williams. Painstakingly pieced together from diary entries, personal letters and radio performances, writer and performer Colin Elmer successfully captures the spirit of Williams’ singular persona. The piece is funny, fast-paced and enjoyable. This is particularly true in a first half that focuses on Williams’ early life as a child living above his father’s hairdressers and his stint in the forces during World War II.

The stories about Williams’ war years provided real insights into the life of a soldier and the work of the Combined Forces Entertainment, the group that travelled around, providing entertainment for the troops. Indeed, Williams lived through a fascinating era of history, and I would have enjoyed more exploration of the context that he was living and working in. Issues such as the illegality of homosexuality for much of Williams’ life undoubtedly impacted him and his work, but were barely touched upon.

Elmer instead focused on performing numerous extracts from Williams’ radio career, using skits from Hancock’s Half Hour, Round the Horne and Just a Minute to trace his evolution from a bit part actor, to an innovative comedian, to a TV and radio personality. This generally worked well and allowed Elmer’s real strength – that is, his well-observed impersonation of Williams – to take centre stage. Elmer’s voice, subtle mannerisms and easy charm resulted in a number audience members commenting in the interval: “I think it’s really him!”

The second half of the show was largely structured in a chat show format, with Elmer feeding audience members pre-prepared questions. This felt a little forced; just a device to allow Elmer to cover some big moments in Williams’ life, including celebrity-themed anecdotes and oddly, the Carry On films (which were rather rushed over, considering that they’re probably Williams’ best known work).

It didn’t help that Elmer was occasionally tripping over his very detailed, very precise script. This section may have worked better if it actually gave The Old Joint Stock audience the opportunity to ask their own questions. They were clearly a knowledgeable bunch and it would have freshened things up to see Elmer thinking on his feet.

Ultimately, the show felt rather one-dimensional. There was no sense of the darkness that haunted Williams, eventually leading him to die from an overdose. Williams’ mother, who he had a close relationship with throughout his life (she even lived next door), was strangely absent. Big and complex questions about Williams’ private life and professional legacy were untouched.

Cult Figure: Kenneth Williams clearly didn’t have ambitions above providing a nostalgic and fun reproduction of the best bits of Williams’ career for the comedian’s devoted following. It certainly succeeded in this: the production comes from a place of great affection and is beautifully performed, but it’s not going to win the cult figure Kenneth Williams any new fans.

For more on Cult Figure: Kenneth Williams, visit www.oldjointstock.co.uk/whats-on/cult-figure

For more from Old Joint Stock Theatre, including full event listings and online ticket sales, visit www.oldjointstock.co.uk

September 29, 2017October 1, 2017

BREVIEW: The Black Angels @ O2 Institute 26.09.17

Words by Emily Doyle / Pics by Rob Hadley

London’s self-described ‘sunshine doom’ 5-piece, Mass Datura, serve up a set of melodic prog to begin the evening. But thanks to a surprisingly long queue for entry at the O2 Institute, complete with drug dog patrols outside the venue, their early set is enjoyed by a smaller audience than they deserved.

And while the violin and keys are a little low in the mix, they craft some interesting textures – providing some excellent fodder to ease the crowd into the evening of psych to come (Mass Datura’s debut LP Sentimental Breakdown is out now on All Types of Slime Records, should you want to fall a little deeper down the rabbit hole).

A Place to Bury Strangers slink onto the stage next, in an unassuming manner; they seem satisfied in the knowledge that the majority of the crowd (this reviewer included) have no idea what is to come. The term ‘wall of noise’ is thrown around all too lightly but in this case it is appropriate; intense strobe lighting marks the start of their set, at 8pm sharp, and does not relent throughout the opening track. Within minutes, some audience members are forced to shield their eyes.

Lia Simone Braswell is one of those rare drummer-come-front person characters. Her kit occupies the front and centre of the stage, a vocal mic arched above her. She is a powerhouse. To her left is Oliver Ackermann of Death By Audio fame, whose distorted vocals cut through the maelstrom; to her right is Dion Lunadon, who indulges in some bass guitar abuse to rival the Clash’s Paul Simonon – trusting his bass into the crowd while Ackermann holds his guitar aloft, and the noise fades.

Braswell produces an autoharp. She proceeds to play a haunting tune, accompanied by delicate vocals, while Lunadon and Ackermann tune up. A Place to Bury Strangers launch back into the howling punk-rock of 2009’s ‘I Lived My Life to Stand in the Shadow Of Your Heart’ with renewed energy. In my notepad, I write the word ‘onslaught’ a total of three times at different points during their set.

The lights dim and A Place to Bury Strangers appear to leave the stage, so the crowd migrates towards the bar to refuel before the headline act. Without warning, a driving electronic beat starts up and multi-coloured lasers erupt from a small circle over by the bar; Ackermann has wheeled a flight case into the crowd and the performance continues. Braswell’s aggressive dancing keeps us just far enough back while Lunadon climbs on top of the case, bass guitar in hand. After this extended jam, A Place to Bury Strangers dissolve into the audience once more… The room awaits The Black Angels.

‘Currency’, the opening track from The Black Angels‘ 2017 album, Death Song, is greeted by cheers. The driving two note riff cuts through the O2 Institute’s main room, with what appears to be Beelzebub’s teletext projected onto the back of the stage. The Black Angels exude a quiet, stoic confidence; a stark contrast to the territorial noise-rock of A Place to Bury Strangers. Alex Mass’s shamanic vocals are hypnotic, a perfect counterpoint to the grinding drums from Stephanie Bailey.

2010’s juddering ‘Bad Vibrations’ lulls the crowd into a comfortable, woozy sway. Everything about The Black Angels’ performance is equally comforting and uneasy; each track is full of the warm, swirling psychedelia of their forebears, but also buzzes with a hint of discord. On stage the band are relaxed, but choose to keep their distance with a complete absence of dialogue.

The crowd responds with an equally subdued manner; one girl dares to climb onto a friends shoulders to sway along to ‘You On The Run’ and is met by a surprising amount of disapproving British frowns. The Black Angels certainly aren’t in Texas anymore.

After an encore culminating in their breakthrough hit, ‘Young Mean Dead’, the audience files out of the O2 Institute. On my way out the door I run into Martin of Tamworth two-piece You Dirty Blue, eyeing the Death By Audio pedals on A Place to Bury Strangers’ merch stand (I later learn that grinders emblazoned with the slogan ‘Listen To The Black Angels’ were also on offer). On reflection, we both agree that although The Black Angels were as excellent as you would expect, it was A Place to Bury Strangers that were the band of the night.

Mass Datura – supporting The Black Angels @ O2 Institute 26.09.17 / Rob Hadley – Birmingham Review