Double Vision; every show unique

Thanks to Takeover Festival, and its associated abundance of free tickets, I recently became more aware of what I think is one of the greatest distinguishers between live performances and the static, usually pre-recorded, "modern"media of television, film and radio. This was the first time I had been to see a show twice, revisiting 4:48 Psychosis on the third night, and catching both the matinee and evening performance of Belt Up's magnificent The Beggar's Opera. The stark differences between each showing were so significant, it is hard to underestimate the unique quality of each performance, and the weight an audience commands in determining this.

I had expected quite a different audience for The Beggar's Opera matinee. In truth there were no more than fifty in house, with just a handful of those falling under, say, 65 years of age. And many came expecting a beautifully classic version of John Gay's comic opera. Needless to say they found themselves challenged. The level of expletive usage was critically high for such an audience, and we quickly felt the tension rising from the stalls. The lady behind accosted us in the interval insisting "That was not the Beggar's Opera". Not a promising first half.

Things did, however, improve in the second half. Those who chose to remain (after 12 interval walk-outs) were swept along with the enforced jollity of Belt Up's performance. And there was a decent applause, as much as could be expected from such a small audience. All of this did nothing to prepare me for the onslaught of the evening performance. A pretty good turnout, with a mix of young and old, immediately provided an upbeat atmosphere, something which would build and build right to the exuberant finale. The contrast in the feel of the show is impossible to understate. Those exiting the matinee trickled away almost sheepishly, but later the same day I was hard pushed to see anyone leaving without a large grin on their face.

Psychosis provided a very different comparison experience. The first night performance was fresh and raw, not perfect, but more powerful as a result of this naivety. But the third night was very different, quite surreal. The whole play took on a kind of black comic element, becoming almost a parody of Kane's original. The culprit in my opinion was one man who began to laugh at the more shocking expletive lines. The rest of the audience seemed to get swept along with this tension diffusing humour. What was a brutal, shocking performance had been transformed into a mildly disturbing piece on mental health with darkly comic undertones.

This prompted me to reflect on the unique nature of live performances. We rarely see theatre twice; perhaps every performance is significantly different. The role of the audience seems critical. The feel of a play depends very much on how it is received by those watching. Being in the audience always seems such a passive experience, but in actuality viewers contribute a critical part to any performance. How people react, whether they laugh, yawn, or remain indifferent, creates the atmosphere in the auditorium, an atmosphere which influences the actors on stage, the mood of the audience, and our overall impression of the show. It seems the success of a show is for the most part in the hands of the audience, after the work of the production team and actors has been done. We must remember that it is thanks to both the audience and those creating the show that each theatrical performance becomes a unique experience, in a way that prerecorded or replayed film, television and radio pieces can never be.

Another Someone

PLAY REVIEW: ANOTHER SOMEONE at York Theatre Royal



“A beautiful and deliberate mayhem”; Rash Dash’s Another Someone is a wonderfully uplifting exploration of the nature of happiness. It feels like watching a child's collage being stuck together on stage, layer by layer, as each character explores the feeling of joy in their own way, physically, musically and poetically.

This show is driven by the prolific usage of movement and music. Becky, the whimsical keyboardist narrator, channels a naive Kate Nash with her innocently soft lyrical happiness. Another Someone boasts a very talented cast, with strong singing voices and impressive acrobatic physical pieces. The sheer passion and sensuality conveyed by the dance of the lovers, Jim and Holly, was enthralling and so convincing, although I could not help but feel that some of the earlier movement lacked lightness of foot. 

The main focus of Another Someone is the exploration of what makes each of us happy, and how we express this. Each character takes a different method; Becky's song, Holly's childhood memories, Jim's basic list, and Ellie's dance, which produce, along with the storyline they interrupt, a rather randomly assembled portrait of some of the good things in life. The plot is kept simple; unlikely friends and mismatched lovers discovering the true pleasures of life. The result is far from coherent, but the confusion and rough edges do impart a rather pleasing handcrafted, almost amateurish feel.

Another Someone is a charmingly sweet play, perhaps even a little sickly in places as it attempts to seduce our inner humanity. If we are willing to accept its utilitarian undertones, based on the simplistic premise that we are a species which just wants to be happy, this play becomes an anthology of human joy, illustrating how joy has a different meaning for all of us. Rash Dash pushes us to consider what makes us happy and, hopefully, compels us to act on this.


Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre".

The Beggar's Opera

PLAY REVIEW: THE BEGGAR’S OPERA at York Theatre Royal.

Magnificent. Tremendous. Incredible. Even such grandiose words can only go so far towards adequately describing Belt Up’s latest creation. This show is something else; a frantically crazed, panto-esque musical injected with incisive political satire, hilarious comic sketches and witty improvisation. Nowhere else will you see the Iron Lady majestically cavorting on stage as brothel owner Madame Snatchers to strains of “Rule Mrs Thatcher, Mrs Thatcher Rules the Waves…”

Belt Up’s The Beggar’s Opera is a masterpiece of popular entertainment, but still manages to be clever and complex. There are so many layers here, forming a kind of patchwork quilt of a show which flickers between satirising the contemporary political climate, tearing apart the Thatcher years, and referring back to Gay’s original (if only through the outline plot). Having said that, Belt Up’s performance does continue John Gay’s controversial approach; equally shocking to contemporaries, the original is often credited with initiating the musical theatre genre.

I particularly enjoyed the satirising of the coalition government, with Cameron and Osbourne simpering around “Mumsy”, telling tales of their cruelty to the friendless “Nicky” Clegg. And I would be surprised to find anyone not won over by the humour of songs like the incredible political-correctness rap, “He’s a gypsy…” The audience interaction was fantastic, with Belt Up pulling lots of the audience up onto the stage for an exuberant final number.

I have rarely had a more enjoyable evening at the theatre. This is quite an admission coming from someone who has an intense dislike of pantomime and musicals, but there was something powerfully intoxicating about The Beggar’s Opera, as if they had pumped the auditorium with airbourne jollity. It was quite impossible to sit through that performance and to remain indifferent as trombone players and members of the cast erupted into song from their peppered positions in the auditorium. I cannot wait to see more from Belt Up, a company which I hope has the potential to do great things for the future of theatre.

Life Support

PLAY REVIEW: LIFE SUPPORT at York Theatre Royal



Catapulting Cocoon’s indie musical, Life Support, appeared previously at York Theatre Royal’s October Takeover week, a festival of shows put on by a management team made up entirely of under twenty-six year olds. Chosen from twenty-five applicants to make their professional debut, the March leg of Takeover saw their return with a more developed performance, neatly reflecting the youthful, music-led inclinations of this year’s festival programme.

Unfortunately post-show comparisons to this previous performance were unfavourable. Some key elements of Catapulting Cocoon’s performance seem to have withered, with a much weaker fade-out ending, excessive length and unnecessary dialogue. The quality of the musical element, vital to the workings of the play, has also suffered. Some of the songs seem irrelevant, mere padding in the worse cases, while the replacement actors lack the singing talent of the original cast.

It is sad that such a vibrant play has suffered so much in its development, but there is still much to enjoy in Life Support. The acting was particularly strong in the fantastically convincing portrayal of Lucy, the crazy special educational needs co-ordinator, with her thick-rimmed glasses and invitations to borrow a book from the library (“school code” for a drink at the local). I also found appeal in the play’s clever touches, like the use of projection displaying live facebook status updates. The story line, too, is charming; the concept of “vigilante educational reformists” giving their valuable artistic talent and time to work with special needs kids for steady rent money. Life Support has a lot to offer, a moving song-by-song narration of what it is to realise you are growing up. Although the dialogue is clunky and overlong we feel the frustration of Alfie and Damien in their struggle to relate to the educational system and its implications for special needs children.

Life Support is the kind show you really want to like, and one that you can through a whole string of adjectives after: irreverent, human, youthful, witty, and moving, just to list a few. I believe this show has a lot of potential, but also desperately needs a lot of polishing. With good direction and some brutal editing, a reduced length, high quality music-led performance would do well.

Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre", http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-life-support-takeover-festival-catapulting-cocoon/

Dancing at Lughnasa

PLAY REVIEW: DANCING AT LUGHNASA at York Theatre Royal

For one night only York Theatre Royal was blessed with the presence of Alistair Whatley’s touring production, Dancing at Lughnasa. Presenting a fresh interpretation of Brian Friel’s bittersweet tale of 1930s Ireland, I can honestly say that Lughnasa was one of the most enjoyable shows I have seen for quite a while.

Friel’s complex memory play explores Irish identity through the story of five sisters, intricately weaving together the clash of cultures and language, the tensions between paganism and Christianity, and the implications of modernity for traditional societies. We share the pain of the sisters as industrialisation destroys livelihoods and breaks their tight bonds. We feel Father Jack’s confusion as he grapples with his native language, now unfamiliar after so many years abroad, and are swept along with Friel’s comments on the erosion of traditions and languages.

Daragh O’Malley is particularly powerful as the eccentric missionary-gone-native Father Jack, while the quintet of sisters are well cast, bringing the theatre to life with their ecstatic dancing scenes. In moments of greater calm the acting becomes a little stale and forced, although this did serve to heighten the wild joy brought to the household by the wireless and traditions of Irish dancing. The real weakness, however, was apparent in the rambling reminiscences of Michael, the story’s love-child narrator. While clever use of an adult narrator to give voice to the imaginary boy worked well, Whatley’s indistinct mumblings soon became hard to follow when required to relate at length the twists and turns of life beyond the summer of 1936.

The elaborate set made use of an impressive amount of grass and wooden fences around the peripheries of a quaint farmhouse kitchen tableau, allowing easy transition between the inside and outside spaces. What was less impressive was the constant discomfort from the lingering stage smoke, an overused effect which quickly exhausted its nostalgic-inducing intentions.

Still, Whatley’s Dancing at Lughnasa is a charming show. Part of the Takeover Festival which sees York Theatre Royal claimed by an under 26 year old management and production team, this one night show certainly stood out for me as the highlight of the programme so far. The sturdy performance shines with the sheer sense of ecstatic joy of the dancing sisters which reverberates throughout the theatre, reaching out and infecting every member of the audience.  The Original Theatre Company deftly conjures a vivid image which for me defined the essence of Friel’s play; that of Christina cavorting in a surplice to the crackle of the wireless dance music. 

Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre", http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-dancing-at-lughnosa-takeover-festival/

Fitzrovia Radio Hour

PLAY REVIEW: FITZROVIA RADIO HOUR at York Theatre Royal

I had high expectations for Seabright's Fitzrovia Radio Hour; a well-known show with three London residencies and a spell at the Edinburgh Festival, and generous reviews up and down the country. The concept itself, stage performance of an elegant 1940s-style radio show, intrigued. It is not a new idea, but this play certainly hinges on the comic novelty inherent in watching the production of sound effects and the creation of radio shows. And for the first few minutes I was pleasantly amused. However, this idea is barely enough to sustain a short sketch, let alone to create enough entertainment for a full length play. The creation of silly noises and the equally ridiculous stories soon eroded any charm induced by the era of the setting. In short, I was ready to leave long before the interval.

Fitzrovia Radio Hour was a painful experience from beginning to end, one that was heightened by having to watch the rest of the audience murmur with obvious amusement. Perhaps it was a generational issue, or perhaps I have an unusual sense of humour. To be honest the majority of the audience were of an age to have actually seen the 1940s for real. So nostalgia was presumably a significant part of the appeal. I can only describe the show as panto-esque. And I hate panto with a passion.

The idea behind Fitzrovia Radio Hour is clever, but it simply is not complex enough to sustain the play. Of course many will say this is rather the point. It is meant to amuse by virtue of its stupidity. But for me that is not enough. I struggled to endure its pointless ramblings on undead mummies and the "moral tragedy" of the lather who should have known his place.  The humour of the show is too obvious, too forced. The real tragedy here is that what should have been an amusing short sketch has been stretched to fill a time it cannot possibly endure for.

Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre", http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-fitzrovia-radio-hour/

Verve 2011

SHOW REVIEW: VERVE 2011 at York Theatre Royal

“We are in the midst of wilderness, even curled up with our lovers in bed” (Paul Shepherd’s The Cultivated Wilderness Or, What is Landscape?). This perfectly defines the essence of the gripping final piece, “Forces”, brilliantly choreographed by Ben Wright. The curtain lifts to reveal the mesmerising soft glow of a chandelier hung so low it leaves but a crawl space between itself and the floor. Mist creeps around the dancers, intensifying the gothic feel of this piece, with its frenzied movements and silhouetted figures.

By far the most captivating of the three pieces displayed by Verve 2011, “Forces” reminded me of the death of a glacier, the dancers reacting to the soundtrack of creaking, crashing ice. Though there was no overall “story” to this piece, many people commented on its Titanic overtones, while each character certainly seemed to have their own tale to tell. I was particularly interested in the male dancer writhing and squirming beneath the chandelier, as if possessed by something. This neatly captured the fundamental idea behind this piece, an exploration of the unseen impulses which cause bodies to move, in both the disciplines of physics and dance.

In my opinion “Forces” was by far the strongest piece performed by Verve 2011. Unfortunately injury forced a reduced show, with only three pieces shown of four, but this did allow us the privilege of an impromptu post-show question and answer session.

The earlier pieces, “Cascade” and “Unspoken”, were less impressive. “Unspoken” in particular was a little dull, although it did feature a beautiful central duet. The choreography was based on John Siddique’s poem Atom, which was commissioned for the imove Sacrament of Marriage Exhibition in Bradford. “Cascade” was an intriguing exploration of psychological interactions between the dancers, but could not be sustained for the duration of the piece. While more emotionally charged and of greater technical interest than “Unspoken”, this piece was similarly disappointing and seemed very flimsy in the afterglow of the final piece.

Verve 2011 is made up of graduate students from the Northern School of Dance who spend a year with the company, working with internationally renowned choreographers. Their show should be an opportunity to showcase a selection of the best contemporary art, teaming experienced choreographers with vibrant young dancers. Sadly, though, only one piece performed lived up to these expectations. We can only hope perhaps Verve 2012 will have more to offer.

4:48 Psychosis

PLAY REVIEW: 4:48 PSYCHOSIS at York Theatre Royal

Sarah Kane named her final play before her suicide for the time she would often wake experiencing freedom for a moment from the delusions of psychosis. Her central character shares this experience, intensely fixed on ending her life at this precise time. Kane’s “4:48 Psychosis” is a deeply disturbing piece of theatre, a seventy five minute live “rupture of the soul” on stage. The play documents the mental fall-out of heartbreak on a psychotic female character physically divided into “Her” and “Other”. It has often been described as an elaborate suicide note which documents some of the turmoil Kane experienced and perhaps explains in some way her final actions. Kane forces us to look in this mirror of her own painful experiences as a way of sharing with her audience a brutally honest exploration of how it feels to be mentally ill.

The delicate nature of the material in “4:48 Psychosis” made it a bold choice for the Takeover Team, a group of under twenty-sixes selected to run York Theatre Royal for two weeks. The whole production team and cast fall under this age-bracket, with the play being the first for Rhiannon Jackson in the role of director. The freeform nature of Kane’s play, with its lack of stage directions and ambiguity of dialogue and characters, makes this a difficult show to produce. And of course the deeply disturbing psychological turmoil affects all who work on the production, creating real emotional challenges for the actors and crew.

Out of these difficulties Takeover have produced a remarkable show, a production which forces us to challenge our notions of mental illness. It is a painful experience, enticing the audience momentarily with the image of tenderness between the doctor and his patient, before plunging us back into the depths of self-blame and unworthiness triggered by his perceived betrayal. At times we can empathise with “Her”; we feel her pain when her love for the doctor is rejected and when she is taunted by her “Other”. But it is not long before we are plunged back into the paranoid delusions of her mind which we struggle to relate to.

Particularly worthy of praise was the design of the set. Walking into a room with a bed raised up at ninety degrees to the floor we immediately feel disturbed, as if we ourselves are hallucinating as we look down onto her blood-stained bed. This continues, pulling the audience ever deeper into the desperate delusions of mental illness as the doctor and “Other” watch and taunt the main character lying impossibly on this bed-wall. For me this feature was immensely powerful, visually breaking the space into two distinct zones, or mind spaces, alternately inhabited by “Her” and “Other”, which together make up the main character. We are given a painful and stark demonstration of the fragmented nature of a mind, an image which stays deep within us long after memories of the show fade.

In all Takeover’s production of “4:48 Psychosis” is remarkably powerful. The brutality and emotional turmoil of Kane’s play is capably handled and enhanced through clever use of set and space. For the duration of the play we are invited into the world of psychosis, a world from which we leave deeply affected by the horrors of mental illness.

Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre". http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-448-psychosis-takeover-festival-york-theatre-royal/

Operation Greenfield

PLAY REVIEW: OPERATION GREENFIELD at York Theatre Royal

A Life-sized cardboard Elvis, a garish flashing golden crucifix, and a bubble-blowing angel Gabriel "overshadowing" the Madonna make for a combination I never expected to see on stage. Little Bulb Theatre's Operation Greenfield is a hurricane of a play which tosses a big handful of randomness in the air and invites us to sit back and watch the resulting debris.

This is theatre at its most bizarre, a fact obvious from its opening with a over-enthusiastic rendition of the prophecy of Isaiah. The plot is simple yet crazy; a teenage Christian band setting out to win the village talent competition. They have a plan - the staging of the Annunciation complete with angel wings and their own song, "Zachariah in the temple". The only problem? The trials of adolescence. Dreams of lesbian kisses, imaginary conversations with Elvis, and the temptations of smoking and teenage love, all throw themselves at the band as the play progresses.

The show has an almost television-like quality thanks to its sheer exuberance and constant frantic action, something like a happy-clappy Christian "The Inbetweeners" with a lifting soundtrack. The acting is persuasively endearing with its portrayal of teenage awkwardness. Lines are yelled, wide-eyed and startled, and we are drawn back into the self-conscious adolescent world where intense fixations on such trivialities as Elvis and talent show contests seem quite believable.

For me, though, Little Bulb Theatre pushed the surreal a little too far in this show. An hour of silliness may have been acceptable, but at eighty minutes the sheer weirdness and sunny mock innocence began to grate towards the finale. A tighter, shorter show may have maintained Operation Greenfield's youthful appeal.

Still, what emerges from the carefully constructed chaos is an accurate portrayal of village-bound Christian adolescence. The sheer randomness may have been a little overpowering, but what we can take away from the show is the warmth from collectively revisiting our growing years. Little Bulb Theatre have succeeded in creating an evocative image of the innocent yet bizarre nature of teenage life. It is a play which entertains us with its comic exploration of young faith, baffles us with its sheer craziness, and ultimately entices us with the nostalgia of teenage friendships.

Operation Greenfield marked the opening night of York Theatre Royal's Takeover Festival, an event which sees the theatre run by people under twenty-six. A bold choice of opening show, Operation Greenfield is an interesting start to what promises to be an excting two weeks of theatre.

Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre". http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-operation-greeland-little-bulb-theatre-takeover-festival/

Ibsen's Ghosts

PLAY REVIEW: GHOSTS at York Theatre Royal

Why do we hide the truth when it shames us? How should we judge if an act is right or wrong? Should we judge at all? And who is this God fellow anyway?

Ibsen asks an awful lot of questions in Ghosts. In many ways it is a morality play, with a modernity that seems to transcend its true age (Ibsen wrote the play in 1881), forcing us to look closely at euthanasia, religion and the stifling strictures of tradition and duty. Life just isn't fun, Ibsen shouts over and over. We are made to do things we do not want to because we must, because society tells us we must. And this so true for us today. We may not all have heavy traditional religion breathing down our necks, as the Pastor holds his flock to account before God, but we are bound to work long hours, to produce perfect homes and families, to dress and live well, to keep up with the herd. We carry crosses of our own making, like Mrs Alving and the Pastor. For me this is the true value of Ibsen. Seeing one of his plays is like seeing a mirror held up to the imperfections of our world.

However, it would be false to assume that Ibsen only shows flaws, and that he completely throws out the concept of God. I think the character of Jacob Engstrand emerges as the true hero of this play. Ibsen even casts him as a carpenter, a clear echo of the Christ-like qualities Ibsen imbues Jacob with. Engstrand possesses a saintly thirst for self-sacrifice, willing taking the shame of having fathered a child out of wedlock, and more endearingly, being so moved by the plight of his wife, made pregnant by another man, that he agrees to marry her and bring up her child as his own, concealing her true paternity and thus sparing his wife. He begs the Pastor to let him take the blame for the destruction of the orphanage, an act which signals the destruction of the idol-father built by Mrs Alving, and the end of mother and son. The sacrifices of Jacob seem to reflect, to me, those made by Jesus in that we see the annihilation of the traditional image of God in the loss of the orphanage, a sweeping away of the old strict traditions, but at the same time the willingness of Jacob to take the blame conveys the coming of a new religion, one based not on law and duty, but on love. One line in particular strikes out, "How can I love a father I have never known?". There is such a depth of truth in that. The religion of the past, and particularly that of Ibsen's homeland, with its Lutheran bent, presents a cold, authoritarian God who is perfect in every way, but is so distant from his people. Ibsen explodes this concept, and in the fall-out presents the possibility of a more personal religion, a religion based on love and human self-sacrifice as illustrated in the character of Jacob.

This is not to say Jacob is without flaws. Ibsen deliberately makes Engstrand human, prone to vices like greed and inferred enjoyment of the lower pleasures. This is what makes Jacob so powerful. He is like us, he is human, and yet he is greater. Ibsen challenges us to better ourselves, but in a way we can relate to. His is not the sermon from on high, but a more individual human message. In Ghosts Ibsen pushes us to live as best we can, to seek to serve our fellow man and God while understanding we all have failings. We are left with two questions. The obvious moral dilemna of the morality of euthanasia, and the more subtle question of Engstrand's future. He leaves to set up a clean boarding house with the aim of keeping sailors away from immoral vices, but we cannot tell whether he will ever truly overcome temptation and become as good and alturistic as he intends. Ibsen has created an intricate exposition of the problem facing all humanity, and he ends with a question for us all; how do we do what is right?

Keepers

PLAY REVIEW: KEEPERS at Ipswich New Wolsey

The longest and most tedious short play I have ever seen.

I had heard of this play before, an article absorbed several months ago and filed deep in the recesses of the mind. But sadly this review was far more enjoyable than the show itself. I remember being intrigued by the idea - two nineteenth century lighthouse keepers living out their lives on stage until the death of one brings the other to the brink of madness, made crazy by the ever-present body of his friend, his only companion until they come to change the shift.

On paper, a particularly unique inspirational event for creating theatre. In practise the time really dragged as soon as the unfortunate Thomas Griffith meets his death. It is not easy to act a dead man, especially when it has to be sustained for half of the play's running time. I found the acting most disturbing, from the abuse of the "body" by his crazed friend, to his stringing-up outside the lighthouse. Clearly this was Day's intention, to bring us into the world of Thomas Howell, forced to live with the body of his dead friend until rescue. I certainly felt nauseated by the writhing body.

What was more irritating for me, and unnecessary, was the tedium that set in during the final minutes. There were several scenes when I thought the curtain call would have been appropriate, and I kept expecting the end long before it came. Each time the lights would come up and the nightmare would be dragged out a little longer. I could blame this on theatre fatigue - a heavy week of shows for me - but I suppose it did impart a real feel for the agony of those weeks Howell endured alone with his dead friend. Just a bit too much agony for me.

In all fairness, the preceding scenes were interesting, theatrically, and the whole play was technically clever. Particularly enjoyable were the fishing scene, the drawn-out portrayal of the lightning of the lamp, and the ladder climbing. Acting a multi-storied lighthouse with a huge lamp above and the crashing waves below was never going to be easy, but the actors excelled in bringing the space to life with their movement between scenes, and the neat marking-out of the boundaries with the window-cleaning scene, squeaks carefully timed to match Thomas Griffith's movements.

A techincally clever and amusing play, but with an unnecessary, almost sadistic level of tedium inflicted on the audience.

The Polite Poet: Andrew Motion

POETRY READING REVIEW: ANDREW MOTION at Ipswich New Wolsey Theatre

The most polite poet reads from his recent works, intricately threading the eternal themes of war, love and loss onto his elegant strands of prose.

To hear Motion in person is to be struck by the contrast between the man and the poetry. His poems are confident, elegant and moving, possessed of real depth and strength. They speak out, open and direct; an unabashed challenge to our preconceptions and inner thoughts. In person, in conversation with an audience, outside the small cramped pages of the published poetry book, he is quite different. In a word he is polite. Infuriatingly so after sustained exposure. Each interaction with his audience is laced with gratitude and appeals; the careful appreciation of the asker of each question ("very kind of you to ask") and a wandering overly-long apology for the swearing in "The Politician" (unintentionally offensive). So self-depreciating, in fact, that he almost comes across as lacking in confidence.

Any such notions are, though, immediately dispelled upon hearing the poet speak. It is in reading his work that Motion seems to really live. I suppose this is the mark of a true poet, much more at home within his art than without. So many of the poets I have come across have been much younger, edgier, more blunt, and this made the contrast to Motion so stark. He is a nice guy, this really shines out. But Motion only becomes his real self when in the role of the poet. Strange how someone could be so different in character to the poems he writes when the Muse choses to depart.

The nice Mr. Motion had some very interesting comments to make, though, as a poet and artist. A huge fan of Dylan, he concluded that some poets sing and some do not. Lyrics and poetry can be one and the same. He also indulged us in his love for Keats, the almost "Christ-like" person whom he had reverred since school. Not a bad poet to adore.

And the effect of his reading was most moving. Particular images leapt out; the whistle of the First World War captain wandering over No Man's Land, the sound of flip flops as they make peace with the earth, the woman speaking to her husband, who would be killed the next day in a roadside bomb, on the phone from "the Garden of Gethsemane". This is the true beauty of poetry, and the only way the art can truly be appreciated. Poetry can only take life when it breathes, when it is given life from the voice of its author.

On reflection Motion reading poetry is a most enjoyable experience, but Motion in conversation is tediously polite. Restraining the urge to rush down to the stage and shake him, goad him into dropping that facade, was not easy. Stick to poetry, Motion.

Ovid and the good-time-girls

PLAY REVIEW: OVID'S METAMORPHOSES at Ipswich New Wolsey Theatre

A selection of eccentric Roman myths, a mixture of the familiar and less well-known, cleverly planted in the strange atmosphere of the 1940s, a heady air of desperate pleasure-seeking driven by the keen knowledge of human fragility.

The peculiar time-world of the 1940s complemented Ovid's work well, an atypical decade for a most unusual set of tales. In many respects society in this era was turned on its head, not unlike the Roman Saturnalia festival, when master waited on servant. Women demanded, and received, more equality, becoming a necessary part of the war labour force. Farm hands and factory workers marched off to battle and came back changed, radicalised and emotionally scarred. On the surface wartime hierarchy seems absolute, each rank and division denoting levels of superiority. But on the ground men soon learned that bullets do not discriminate on grounds of race, class or social "status". Formal strictures of the military pushed off-duty soldiers and civilians to revel in what little freedoms remained.

This strange atmosphere proved an ideal counterpart to the sheer alien nature of many of Ovid's tales. A 1940s dance hall scene accompanied the tale of Apollo and Daphne; Zeus saved Io, struck by terror, from Blitz air raids. This edge of death, bubbling beneath the gay 1940s music, neatly explained the excessive libidos of the gods, something our readings of Graeco-Roman mythology often struggle with. Perhaps the divine beings Ovid paints are touched by this mortality, by our short, sweet lives in a similar way to the atmosphere created by war, one of a lack of time, a need for the greatest happiness before we enter the great oblivion. And of course this can only have been heightened by Roman belief in a pale Underworld of shadowy ghosts, and the growing irreligiosity of wartime England.

One of the most memorable tales was that of Theseus. In the 1940s hospital setting the labyrinth became Theseus' mind, an illness which had trapped him within himself, one which he could only escape from by seeking out his greatest fear, the Minotaur. This innovation was a little contrived, but certainly made for unusual theatre.

Unfortunately some aspects of the show were tedious, irritating even. Use of puppets to portray the diminuitive Eros and Mercury's flights was amusing, but over-use soon ended what novelty value there had been. Similarly, use of great panels as screens for character-switching was initially clever, but extended use impressed on us their great weight, heavy, clunky and artificial. Used less these devices would have been far more effective.

In all, the setting proved an ideal match for Ovid's tales, lending an unusual backdrop to match the eccentricity of the stories, and adding depth and explanation. Song and dance displayed the considerable all-round talents of the acting company, while use of clever devices, puppetry and movable screen panels, initially proved amusing. After all, Ovid and Roman mythology are essentially alien, strikingly unusual and foreign by nature.

Pulling them off convincingly for a modern audience is a job not easily done. "Pants on Fire's "Metamorphoses" is a fine achievement, a clever setting neatly showcasing an eclectic selection of ancient tales.

One Man Beatbox: Shlomo Mouthtronica

SHOW REVIEW: SHLOMO MOUTHTRONICA at Ipswich New Wolsey Theatre

An intoxicating one-man music machine, an hour of pure entertainment from just one instrument, the human voice.

I had never realised just how many different sounds it is possible to make with your mouth. As children we are obsessed with playing with everything and anything, testing all the boundaries, seeing who can shout the loudest, make the strangest sounds. But Shlomo just takes it to a whole new level.

His show was, in a word, neat. Cleverly put together, with short beatbox tunes interspersed with what he called "polite conversation", finished by "impromptu" collaboration with a harmonica and drum. We were instructed in the ten tools of his trade, from voice to loop sampler,  employed to build up the act and the musical pieces, layer upon layer. It was this layering feature which really made the show, and his music. Interestingly, Shlomo uses a loop sampler to record short bursts of voice which he then builds on and replays continuously, until the piece grows in volume and depth, like constructing a paper maiche model, layer by layer. Use of a voice distorter, which allows echo and pitch altering effects, polishes off his handicraft.

Shlomo's work is intelligent. It appeals on so many levels, mostly because it is constructed of many layers. His show itself is built up of layers, creating a picture of his life with each mini conversation, outlining the tools of his trade piece by piece, and building a relationship with his audience. So many layers, so many aspects, each different layer reflecting and alluding to the fundamental layers which make up his music, layers of the same voice played over and over.

Mouthtronica is essentially a complex show, but this does not make it inaccessible. The Wolsey show attracted a mix of viewers, many young, several less-than-desirables coming and going throughout his set. But even they, who perhaps had little theatrical knowledge or experience, were quickly sucked in by Shlomo's sheer exuberance and openness. An unexpected musical genius.