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Edinburgh Fringe 2009:
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It is often stated that the director’s most important contribution is in the casting, and newcomer, Ryan Bourne, must be commended for his bringing Jeanne Graham (the mother) and Jeff Alan-Lee (the son) to this fine production. Both actors are perfect for their parts. They depict the heat, bug infected, decrepitude of their neighborhood very well. Graham’s high pitched voice is enough to make you want to strangle her, and Alan-Lee’s self loathing and shame render this seething one act by Tennessee Williams quite believable.
I do wish that more time had been taken and the paced slowed; that the co-dependent, love/hate relationship had been deepened and more fully savored. A substantiated reason for the interjection of the fine original music by Jane Getz and Bob Tucker, (such as a bar door opening and closing near by) would have been helpful.
Actors and director come from the new Fired Up Theatre Company in Los Angeles, and with such a beginning, we can expect exciting work in the future.
Celebration
Tin Pot Theatre is an amateur theatrical company in Hammersmith, West London. Although able, its members, at least all performing in this play, were all too young for their parts. (Will Attenborough was a bit more successful in creating a believable character becoming progressively drunk and obnoxious as the evening progressed.) If, however, you haven’t seen Pinter’s Celebration, then this gives you such an opportunity. The play is about a few hours in a restaurant amongst totally despicable people lacking all inner insight or moral sensitivity; people who repress their emotions and refuse to explore inner or outer truths.
Delores
So far this is the very best that I have seen at the Fringe. I must state initially that I absolutely love playwright, Edward Allen Baker. Although this play is at moments comic, its brutal realism is devastating. Donna Patrice and Sarah Fahy give stellar performances. This is award winning material.
With the bare minimum of stage accommodations, (the audience literally sitting in their laps), these two women managed to unravel emotionally with truth and reality that would be appreciated in any theatre in the world. One suggestion: I though Ms Fahy swallowed her words. Her dialect, the same as her sister’s which I understood perfectly, left me out of a lot of her share of the dialogue. Her wiry, taunt body, however, spoke volumes. This, along with Donna Patrice’s readily available emotional responsiveness, leads me to believe that busy acting careers await these fine actresses.
I did not see the name of a director listed. Whoever he/she was, he/she did a grand job.
At: The Spacce@Jury’s Inn
Diary of a Madman
This terrific adaptation, in English, of Gogol’s Diary of a Madman constitutes a welcome addition to our theatre repertoire. English speaking actors around the world may soon be scrambling to get a hold of the script. It is such wonderful material.
One of the adapters, and also the director, Jonathan Heron, along with designer Nomi Everall are first to be congratulated for this moving and exciting production. It is almost inconceivable that at the fringe, where set up time is fifteen minutes, such a perfect, dingy, claustrophobic environment could be created for the lone actor confined in the stained, lonely walls of his mind as well as his room.
Only rarely have I seen such a creative use of props. Particularly mesmerizing was the manipulation of the desk lamp. I will say, however, that I would have liked to have seen even more exploration. How easy it would have been for the actor to have created the shadow of a dog on the wall with his hand, or to have stepped in front of the spotlight himself, cast a shadow on the wall, and relate to that in movement as well as speech; I also wished this desk light had been turned more on the wall down stage, thus opening up the actor; too much of the time the actor was facing up stage right.
Christopher Tester, the “madman” , is young and has not solved the basic problem of all monologues. To whom is he talking? He must know this and concentrate on this absolutely. The person or persons to whom he is talking may be alive or dead, himself as a child or at some other point in his life; the audience can also be used, as whiteness or even ghosts of ancestors; but a definite person or persons must be held in his mind. One cannot talk to non-specific people in general. We sometimes see demented people talking aloud on the streets. Sometimes they even shake their fists at the sky, but we know that the people to whom they speak are absolutely real to them. I also wished he had come out on the apron at times, turned more to the audience more, even addressing them at moments. And he never convinced me that he was truly loosing his mind, broken by humiliation, isolation, and despair.
All in all, this is a very good show and I recommend it highly.
At the Underbelly: Big Belly
Francis, The Holy Jester
Mario Pirovano is a seasoned actor. His talent alone is enough to recommend this show. Full of vim and vigor, with extraordinary energy and love of life, he infuses his ‘Comedia Dell Arte’ physicality with passion, imagination, and believability. The story he has translated into English, written by Dario Fo, opens the door to English speaking audiences around the world to this very interesting, detailed descriptions of different hypothetical episodes from the life of St Francis of Assisi.
Do yourself a favor and see this “divine jester,” who, under the direction of Dario Fo himself, has created a joyful, relaxing hour at the Fringe. I’d like to see him perform this piece in monks robes; hopes he tries this, at least once.
At Pleasance Courtyard
Jordy Pordy
This solo play is autobiographical in nature, dealing with Judaism, being a middle child (both brothers born with cystic fibrosis) in a family coping with organ donation, and other serious matters. It explores the themes of self–identity and growing into manhood. I also think it is about the ability to confront realities emotionally.
Jordy Pordy is extremely funny and well written. Jordan Hershowitz is a good performer. But something in the evening is not resolved. During the show Hershowitz mentions several times that he has decided to be an actor, but also that he has extreme difficulty shedding tears. It is more than understandable that he, perhaps, at an early age, facing the disease of his brothers and the pain of his parents, learned to close down emotionally just in order to survive. Certainly this is not an unusual scenario. Actors go to therapists, take up tai chi, meditation, and study ‘method’ acting as taught by Lee Strasberg, all in order to deepen inner concentration and emotional responsiveness. All actors, unless they really want to be writers, directors, or stand up comedians, deal with the issue of feeling.
At the climax of the evening Mr. Hershowitz ostensibly breaks down crying. This, however, is only indicated, and not truly felt as we expect in today’s theatre. His show is very good, very funny, but, in my opinion, not yet complete. Hopefully he can solve this issue. I wish him the best of luck.
Killing Me Softly
I slipped into my seat a moment late, and thought at first, oh, oh, not for me, but as the bizarre story in rhyme progressed, I found that I was in the midst of a most thought provoking, grief stricken study of downtrodden humanity. Written and performed by talented and able, Richard Fry, this is quit a nice piece.
I feel though that Fry could be aided by an experienced director. He needs to physically relax more, necessary in the enablement of emotional responsiveness, work on variety and transitions, and improve in the performance of his songs. (If he chooses to sing off key, that should be a conscious decision and not accidental.) As the play progressed, I wished our protagonist would have slowed down, giving us all time to savor the emotions.
Mr. Fry is an excellent writer/actor/performer. With time his entire experience on stage can be deepened and perfected.
A good choice for an afternoon at the Fringe.
Mother / Son
Sometimes you wander into a theatre with no expectations whatsoever—perhaps after days of very mediocre viewing at the Fringe Festival—and suddenly you stumble upon a little gem of theatre artistry that reminds you of what you are seeking here in the first place. So it was with Mother/Son, playing at Sweet Grassmarket City 1 (venue 18), at 17:35. Written and performed by Jeffrey Solomon, the show is a tour de force of storytelling and acting.
This award-winning solo play about the discovery, acceptance, and eventual support a mother gives her gay son, transcends its theme and touches on the compassion possible between many family members as they come to accept each other as they really are, and not as they would like them to be. I, who am not gay, could not hold back my tears, nor my laughter witnessing the depth of care and trust between this mother and son, both performed brilliantly by Mr. Solomon. Indeed, I felt he performed his mother better than himself…taking on her persona; he seemed to lose all self-consciousness and find the inner freedom indicative of all great performances.
I had the good fortune of speaking to Mr. Solomon for a few minutes after the show. He told me that he has toured this play extensively. I asked him how he remained fresh after so many years. He said it was his way of staying connected with his mother.
This is a delightful show, the very best that I have seen so far at the Fringe. How fortunate I was to have wandered in, escaping the rain.
Nine Lives of Bua Lydia
Seeing so many shows at the Fringe Festival, it is difficult not to make comparisons, sometimes for good, and sometimes not for good. If you have recently experienced a piece that has moved you deeply, it is not so easy then to praise another that seems disconnected.
The first show on my list today was Nine Lives of Bua Lydia. It certainly was an adequate description of the life of an abducted child soldier. I commend the actress who is sympathetic and appealing. But she is far too young and inexperienced to find the depth of feeling or disquietude as seen in the real victim shown in live footage on a video screen down stage. Therefore, the show remained a cursory documentary rather than a dramatic theatrical achievement. Interestingly enough, the names of both actresses in the piece were left off the program.
I want to mention one great line in the opening of this play. It was something about pain binding people together; about wanting to hear about the pain of others; seeing catharsis which can enable identification with humanity, an entity greater than our individual selves. But it is emotion that bridges the distances between peoples, and because of the lack of feeling displayed on stage, (or intentionally held back,) this piece could not fulfill its potential.
Not Spain
Not Spain is an excellent play. It may be even better than I think, as I missed so much of the dialogue due to the assumed or real accent of one of the two leading characters. So often political dramas are preachy; they attempt to force emotion both from the actors and the audience. I feared at first this would be a poetic recitation, but soon discovered to my delight that the two completely different personalities on stage, that of a Western, female reporter, and a shattered Bosnian man had ample opportunity to relate and confront one another.
This production comes for Sheffield University Drama School, and as such I find it difficult to critique it as I would a professional show. Directed and acted by young, inexperienced students, one feels the urge to make certain allowances. Still, I will begin by saying that Dean Anthony Michael did admirably as the Bosnian man attempting to secure a visa for his supposed dead wife, but as pointed out earlier, his accent prevented intelligibility. An experienced director could have helped him with this, as well as guided him to greater emotional fullness when demanded by the script.
Alice Stride is a performer with wonderful, promising eyes full of feeling and intelligence, however no one has taught her to explore her body, and she stands stiffly throughout without leaning or stretching or finding real behavior, even if it is only to open her jacket or loosen the scarf strangling round her neck. In high heals and nail polish, clutching a purse, she appears completely inappropriately for the surroundings. Didn’t she watch on television how reporters venturing to war zones dressed?
The director was confronted by incredibly difficult blocking. He started off bravely enough, but soon the of the actors became repetitive as were the light changes. No music was incorporated. Far too often actors turned their back to the audience, especially on very important lines. No allowance was made for necessary adjustments due to the absence of audience members. Certain sections of the theatre need not be performed to if nobody is there. Actors and directors must be able to make spontaneous choices based on the realities of the moment.
The play was the best part of this production. If the Bosnian accent is lightened, I suggest people go see it.
Our Country’s Good
Yesterday I saw two different productions of Our Country’s Good. Both productions were done primarily by young and/or inexperienced performers. Both used the entire text. Both fell into the trap of indicating the vulgarity of the female prisoners rather than acting the reality of each individual characters; among their other things, they stood up to their officer ‘director’ too abruptly, in an unbelievable manner. The good guys and the bad guys were too well defined, also. Both had a variety of dialects which impeded intelligibility. Yet one production trotted along rather tediously while the other was vibrant and exciting. What made the difference?
The play itself has many pit falls. Interminable black outs certainly contributed to the tedium of the WDG production at The Space@Venue 45. Creative ways to handle these blackouts were not found, nor covered by sound effects or music. Individual scenes, although provocative in themselves, all seem isolated from one another. We catch the plot piece meal. The play never offers the opportunity of seeing the prisoners actually performing well, (They put on the first play in the Australian colony …an essential point of the plot), something for which the audience longs. The WDG Company could not overcome these handicaps. Lacking real feeling or passion, they seemed rather disconnected from the material, and I disconnected as well.
Another company, The San Walk Project, performing at C (Marlin’s Wynd) Venue 64, took the same material and brought it to life. This could not have been done without the imagination, vision, and colossal energy of Co-Producer, Technical Director and Production Manager, Simon Cummin. He found cellars, or vaults, (I don’t know what to call them), dungeons under the ground in which to stage the play, and that made the entire story real. The audience as well as the actors could not help being effected by these grim surrounding. Real feelings flashed across the ever moving stages; the audience walked from one vault to another like invisible specters peeping into the lives of their new friends.
Co-Producer and Director Ellie Pitkin must also be highly commended for her ability to guide her actors and lead them to believable acting. The story became infinitely clearer under her direction. There was variety, and a build to a climax, as well as a resolution. She knew exactly when to get her actors to begin their scene as the audience drifted into place, thus avoiding those deadly blackouts mentioned previously. Some of the scenes, as when the decision to do or not do the play is being made by the officers, were brilliant.
This productions can boast of extremely subtle and effective sound effects, (Millie Cook), compelling music, (Liam Kerrigan), as well as lighting (Jack Salzman). Make up (Sheila Finkler) and costumes (Lotty Englishby) were also good.
I thought about calling out the names of a few of the exceptional actors, but decided not to do so as the strength of the piece lies in its ensemble work. The ensemble, all together, did very well.
Word of a good production gets around. The audience was quit full. We all had a terrific time and we can look for the names of Simon Cumin and E llie Pitkin in the future, for they certainly have a future.
Street Theatre
The Edinburgh Fringe is known for great street theatre. There always are the super magicians, jugglers, sketch artists, musicians…all top notch, one more thrilling than another. But I saw two extraordinary sights on the streets this year of 2009. They caused me to pause, and touched me deeply.
A young, rather slight man in top hat and tails rambled, zigzagging down the street propelling an upright piano with bicycle pedals. Playing and singing he wheeled this contraption, which was somehow perched up on a platform, forward creating a most fantastical image. Hypnotized, I stood and stared. The performer’s thin features and outrageous appearance convinced me that I was in the magical under-world of Dickens. Unfortunately, this musician was about to take his break, and I was late for a theatre date, but the glimpse into this absurdist world will live with me and be part of my own creative arsenal, forever. Thank you, young man, whoever you are.
The next afternoon, along the Royal Mile, in between rain showers, I spotted a stature that seemed to come alive. The performer’s costume and make up must have been created by a visual artist. The tones of the cloth that covered her body, hands and hair, along with her face paint, were a dark silver grey absolutely matching the ancient grime of the building in front of which she stood. Her skirts were extremely long and fell over the box upon which she stood, touching the ground. She appeared twelve feet tall. Holding a silver ball in one hand, she tilted, leaning downward, as if offering this glob, this small world, to all of us on the street. A sweet smile played upon her face. A voice spontaneously and gratefully jumped out of me, “You are magnificent. You are exquisite.” As I backed off, I noticed quite young children running to her with outstretched arms. They must have perceived in her the embodiment of one of their fairytale characters. They saw stone come to life. Parents hurriedly pulled their children back as if this might be the Pied Piper, so captivating was this image. This performer created something beyond the world of physical dexterity, comedy, or diversion. What she created was ‘beauty’ and that is what lifts the spirit of people. At least, that is what I think.