Here's one for the archives. The big, dark, never-to-be-ventured-into-because-you-will-be-lost-in-aimless-mediocrity archive of "Performances that take themselves far too seriously and give post-modernism a bad name". This is a great show if you like to spend 40 minutes looking at pretty things, like flowers and pieces of white cloth, float in a swimming pool - it's surprisingly beautiful and compelling. The rest of it, however, is a waste of space. It's funny, though perhaps not that surprising, that this performance has been getting a lot of attention and good reviews. Ultimately, the only thing of worth and note in the performance is the swimming pool itself - which looks lovely and hot - and that is simply not good enough.
Right. So this is a rendition of Ophelia's attempt, ultimately successful at killing herself. She considers pills - taking paracetemol from the audience, who, in an act of gracious mercy were only too happy to hand them over, she gave that a go but was stopped by Gertrude - that big spoil sport - who insisted we sit through another 30 minutes of it. She then threw a hair dryer into the pool and proceeded to dunk her head into the water and electrocute herself. But that didn't do the trick either. Turns out she had also tried to slit her wrists, but we only saw the unsuccessful results of that, I'm afraid. Eventually, she gets in the water and it's all over and done with.
The text is a combination of pop songs - such as Prince's When Doves Cry, Hero by Enrique Iglesias and Video Tape by Radiohead - and Shakespearean text, some of which is repeated several times, to no great effect. The pop songs really do take any semblance of considered dramaturgy away from this piece and reveal it for what it really is - a lazy, sensationalist piece of nonsense, which is not nearly as clever or profound than it thinks it is. This is a student production, but I know students who could come up with something subtler, more interesting and more imaginative in 30 minutes. If you took away the pool and the pretty flowers in the water this would be a nothing show and no one would care.
What it also does is give the artistic cornerstones of deconstructionism and post-modernism a very bad name. Non-linear narratives, self-aware theatricality and non-traditional staging are not innovative and you cannot just make lazy attempts at realising them. Re-interpreting old texts implies, necessitates actually, that you do give them an interpretation and not just put them in the same space as pop songs. The best works that are post-modern maintain an honesty and a humility to them. They try to move away from pretension and fakery because that's the very thing post-modern theatre was created to counter (well, that's an argument worth having, but perhaps not just at this moment).
In terms of performances, they were all pretty woeful. The performers were Helen Morton (Ophelia), Rose Walker (Gertrude), Pete Wheller ("The Prince") and Serafina Kiszko ("The Lover"). I feel it would be cruel to start singling out individual performances. What I would say, though, is that one particular moment in which the Prince and the Lover are, supposedly, having sex in the swimming pool was the least sexually charged passage of movement I think I've ever seen. I've been served tea in a more erotic way.
The director/designers Daniel Marchese Robinson and Daniel Pitt really have some thinking to do. Yes, their show has sold out for the rest of the Fringe. Yes, it's been getting lots of great press and will be remembered as a "hit" Fringe show. But, no, this is not good enough. The art itself is hollow, unsupported by emotional honesty and an insult to the performance makers who bring a rigour and a passion to deconstruction and reinterpretation of old texts. If ever one needs a pretty swimming pool scene, they are the people to call. When it comes to creating a performance totality, this creative team has a long way to go.
1.5 out of 10.
At Sweet Swimming Pool at 9.30pm.
- James Grogan
Right. So this is a rendition of Ophelia's attempt, ultimately successful at killing herself. She considers pills - taking paracetemol from the audience, who, in an act of gracious mercy were only too happy to hand them over, she gave that a go but was stopped by Gertrude - that big spoil sport - who insisted we sit through another 30 minutes of it. She then threw a hair dryer into the pool and proceeded to dunk her head into the water and electrocute herself. But that didn't do the trick either. Turns out she had also tried to slit her wrists, but we only saw the unsuccessful results of that, I'm afraid. Eventually, she gets in the water and it's all over and done with.
The text is a combination of pop songs - such as Prince's When Doves Cry, Hero by Enrique Iglesias and Video Tape by Radiohead - and Shakespearean text, some of which is repeated several times, to no great effect. The pop songs really do take any semblance of considered dramaturgy away from this piece and reveal it for what it really is - a lazy, sensationalist piece of nonsense, which is not nearly as clever or profound than it thinks it is. This is a student production, but I know students who could come up with something subtler, more interesting and more imaginative in 30 minutes. If you took away the pool and the pretty flowers in the water this would be a nothing show and no one would care.
What it also does is give the artistic cornerstones of deconstructionism and post-modernism a very bad name. Non-linear narratives, self-aware theatricality and non-traditional staging are not innovative and you cannot just make lazy attempts at realising them. Re-interpreting old texts implies, necessitates actually, that you do give them an interpretation and not just put them in the same space as pop songs. The best works that are post-modern maintain an honesty and a humility to them. They try to move away from pretension and fakery because that's the very thing post-modern theatre was created to counter (well, that's an argument worth having, but perhaps not just at this moment).
In terms of performances, they were all pretty woeful. The performers were Helen Morton (Ophelia), Rose Walker (Gertrude), Pete Wheller ("The Prince") and Serafina Kiszko ("The Lover"). I feel it would be cruel to start singling out individual performances. What I would say, though, is that one particular moment in which the Prince and the Lover are, supposedly, having sex in the swimming pool was the least sexually charged passage of movement I think I've ever seen. I've been served tea in a more erotic way.
The director/designers Daniel Marchese Robinson and Daniel Pitt really have some thinking to do. Yes, their show has sold out for the rest of the Fringe. Yes, it's been getting lots of great press and will be remembered as a "hit" Fringe show. But, no, this is not good enough. The art itself is hollow, unsupported by emotional honesty and an insult to the performance makers who bring a rigour and a passion to deconstruction and reinterpretation of old texts. If ever one needs a pretty swimming pool scene, they are the people to call. When it comes to creating a performance totality, this creative team has a long way to go.
1.5 out of 10.
At Sweet Swimming Pool at 9.30pm.
- James Grogan
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