Day 17. Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be doctors.

April 1, 2020 by

March 31. Sylvia actually was out of bed sooner than Christine. It was a work day for her, and she wanted to be logged in promptly for a 9 AM start. So for once, Christine was the one getting out of bed and getting hugged as she woke up. “I made you tea,” Sylvia told her. “And I’ve told my boss I’ve got a therapy session at 11.”

Five minutes before 11, Sylvia disappeared into the bedroom while Christine kept on working from the couch. She was conducting interviews with various team leaders in the company to learn about their style of working. She pulled her headphones off as noon rolled around and Sylvia emerged from the bedroom, puffy-faced and disheveled. She sat next to Christine on the couch and put her arms around her.

“Was it a rough session today?”

*Very,” said Christine, her voice muffled. “We talked about Jesse. I just haven’t really processed it.”

“I don’t even really know what happened after you sent that letter Saturday night.”

“It’s just all of that and the job thing and everything. It’s all just a bit much.”

“But you’ve got other people to talk to besides your counselor, right?”

“She was asking about that, too. Maybe she’s bored of my stupid problems”

“It’s just about making sure you’re supported, hon. There’s a lot going on right now. I can be here for a lot of it but not everything. What’s up with work today?”

“I’m sure we’re going to be furloughed.”

“Then what will you do with your time?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve got another meeting, hon. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” They hugged each other and Sylvia got off the couch, while Christine put her headphones back on.
***********************************

At five, Christine closed her computer. “I’m going to go to the shops, I want you to come with me.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“You need exercise.”

“I think I might be sick.”

“We need food. You can wait outside the shop. You need some exercise.”

Sylvia’s phone pinged and she looked down. “I’ll have to be back in twenty minutes, work wants to call me.”

“That should be fine.”

About five minutes away from the house, Sylvia began to get jittery. “Where are we going? What are we buying? I thought we were going to the shop around the corner.”

“No, we’re buying fresh vegetables, they don’t have it there.”

Sylvia frowned and looked nervous. “We can’t make it there and back in twenty minutes.”

Christine stared at her. “It’s less than ten minutes, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But work wants to call. I need to talk to them.”

“You have your phone.”

“No, no, it’s on video. I’m going back. I’m sorry. I’ll see you at home.” And with that, she turned and walked back.

At the shop Christine had aimed for, a queue of ten people stood waiting to get in, too close together. The vegetables outside looked gorgeous, but it was clearly going to be fifteen minutes wait. Wasn’t the LIdl up the street supposed to have good stock in now? She walked up the nearly empty intersection, noticing that the Tube station looked open and the buses were empty – which would be great for getting home if only it seemed safe to travel on one. At the Lidl, there were four people in line – and a much larger shop. Ten minutes later, she was inside, to a virtual paradise compared to last week’s attempt to buy supplies at the Aldi – a mountain of eggs, a pallet of flour, two different types of sweetened condensed milk … but of all things, almost no coriander, the one must-have on the list. She grabbed a potted one despite knowing it would give her guilt to throw the rest of the plant away. And she bought two bottles of red wine, including an appetizing looking Hungarian “bikaver,” plus silly plastic eggs and chocolate for Easter that she was sure would make Sylvia smile.

“We’re furloughed,” came the WhatsApp as she stood at the self service register. “All but two people at the company. I don’t know what to do now.”

Day 17. 2,619 total deaths in the UK, 6521 cases total in London. Christine watch the live performance of a play in the kitchen while she cooked creamy coriander chicken with spicy kale (toasted cumin seeds and chili flakes for favor, plus a burn on her left hand), lost connecting while moving into the living room to eat. After the table was cleared, she and Sylvia played a game of patchwork, then went to the couch to watch two episodes of the BBC miniseries of Pride and Prejudice, which had them both in stitches. Bed after midnight, and neither of them, honestly, could really see the point in getting up for anything tomorrow.

Review – Trainers: A Theatrical Essay – Gate Theater

March 4, 2020 by

When you’re a critic, you learn that press releases aren’t always the truth. I mean, the truth can vary depending on who is telling it, so let’s say press releases sometimes don’t meet my truth. Let’s discuss the press release for Trainers:

“Set in a post gender future, Trainers… is part essay and part play. It follows a struggling writer who falls in with a group of depressed queer revolutionaries during a future civil war … [and] explores what it takes to challenge the politics of one’s time and how we can train for a revolution.

“Director Hestor Chillingworth said ‘For anyone who has questions about theatre, gender, power and hope – Trainers is a great place to come to ask them with us.’ ”

This is what was promised. I am a queer theater maker, and my partner is trans. I am interested in queer theater, gender, trans “work,” and, well, theater! I would have thought I was the ideal audience for this show, but …

Two actors are on stage. One appears to be cis female (Nicky Hobday); the other could be cis or trans but is called “he” in the program (Nando Messias) and is wearing a fabulous dress. They are standing on a stage with many objects on it – chairs, rolled carpets, a horse statue, an office chair, a stool, a bicycle, a bucket of paint, et cetera. They start talking – sometimes in turns, sometimes simultaneously – explaining a bit of the concept of what we are about to watch. It’s sort of an essay. It’s sort of inspired by Montaigne. The conceit is used that when one of them says “I” they are the writer of the work.

So … there is rather a long bit about essay writing, which seemed in the end to say that essays don’t have to have a point, and at some point the “I” starts to be a writer who is living in this post-apocalyptic future where people ride horses and parts of the city are walled off from others. “I” is a writer, in love with Stephen, who writes revolutionary pamphlets and is popular.

Beyond this … there is little sense of a real story, no narrative forward motion, and very little sense of real people being created on stage. It didn’t even really tie the metaphor of “trainers” in, despite numerous mention of personal trainers. Instead, the actors change clothes, eat paint and oil (or pretend to), and neither do nor say anything that to me indicated queerness or transness. The only scene that really struck me was very trans was one in which they attempted to negotiate a first sexual encounter with each other, knowing nothing of what sensitive bits of human machinery they might work with; but otherwise …

Trainers (c) Alex Harvey Brown – Nando Messias and Nicki Hobday


How to have a revolution? Challenging the politics of one’s times? I felt I got none of this, and only the slightest taste of there being other events going on besides the slight story of a possible romance. People in the audience were cheering wildly, but I felt this show was self indulgent and formless. It’s a shame, because both performers were quite compelling and I can imagine happily seeing them in a different production in the future. Trainers on for a three week run, though, so possibly there are many people out there who will find this show speaks to them. Me, it made me think I should put my head to doing more explicitly queer works, because while we all know the revolution will not be televised, this made me think it’s not going to be on the stage, either. Not this time, anyway.

(This review was for press night, which took place March 3, 2020. It continues through March 21st.)

Review – Darkfield Trilogy (Seance, Flight, Coma) – Three Shipping Containers at Lewis Cubitt Square

March 2, 2020 by

I like theater that pushes me: not by doing hamfisted triggery stuff about blood and abuse but stuff that challenges my comfort zones in solid, meatspace kinds of ways. One on one theater can do this easily; but there’s also much to be said for theater performed in the dark. Darkfield was going to push my claustrophobia buttons; but were they going to take it too far? I am simultaneously a bit of a coward and terribly intrigued by seeing what I can handle but also by the way my sensory perception changes when I don’t have access to light anymore. So, hey, maybe Darkfield didn’t actually want a person like me coming to review their shows at all; but I was fairly sure nobody would try to touch me by surprise, and I, er, cheated by having my partner come with me so in case I did get genuinely panicky I’d have someone there I could CHOOSE to touch.

So, what did I think I was going to see? (You can read what’s on the press release, I’ll tell you how I interpreted it.) First, for Seance: I am interested in 19th century spiritualism (especially after seeing the Smoke and Mirrors exhibit at the Wellcome), and what I was hoping for was a proper seance with glowing things floating in the air and hands coming out of the table. What I got was an audio experience, with, I believe, a moving table (authentic enough); it seemed that it was taking place with the various audience members participating but it was clear enough that what I was listening to was entirely a recording. In pitch blackness, it was easy enough to imagine there was someone walking around the room talking to us all; but reality was that the 20 of us were sat elbow to elbow around a table about 2 feet wide and with our backs against the wall, so clearly nobody was walking in the room at all. We were being told a story as it it were happening in front of us, but nothing ever was seen once the lights dropped. In some ways I was disappointed (as I’d love to experience a real seance!); but in this case, I just enjoyed what was pretty much a ghost story that you were part of, and it was good. Also, I didn’t get so freaked out I had to leave, and nobody touched me. This was, in the end, my favorite of all of them, and I’d highly recommend making time to attend this.

Number two was “Flight,” which took place in a shipping container that had rows of airline seats in it, and windows on the right. I was expecting to be in a plane that crashes, although I didn’t really know how they would handle it; I was incorrectly thinking that most of the experience would be aural. Again, no one tries to touch you, and there is no one to be seen, just heard in the headphones. For this one, there were moments where it was honestly so loud I had to take the headphones off, and I would have a little bit of a question about the safety of the sound levels. It was a thoughtful and interesting experience, but with the roar of an airplane constantly in the background, I missed too much of the dialogue, and for this reason I must say this one was the least effective of the trio. There was an experience and some philosophy but over all BBBRRRRROOOOWWWWWWMMMMMM .
IMG_20200229_203937_1[1]
Finally, the most physically uncomfortable part of the night: Coma. You’d think that walking into a room set up with bunk beds that you’d be set – half an hour of just lying on your back, doing nothing. But with the temperatures outside near zero and a nice wind blowing to boot, I found I was cold and shivering for most of this, and I became focused on trying to keep my hands warm (as my feet lost sensation due to the cold – with boots on, natch!) and just in too much discomfort. I found the story telling for this section interesting, but I was expecting to be a lot closer to what it was actually like to be in a coma a la Shannon Yee’s Reassembled. Darkfield was interested in taking you on a slightly different journey, one which included smell-o-vision. But I wasn’t able to connect from the material – or disconnect from reality – enough to fully immerse myself in this one. Still, as pop-in, pop-out theater, any of these would be fun (at 30 minutes or less), and the nearby cafes and bars are actually a real treat. And it was cool to walk out into a heightened sense of reality from all of that time straining with your ears and skin and nose to find out the information your eyes could no longer give you. Try to make time for it while it’s on.

(This review is for an opening weekend performance that I saw on Saturday, February 29th, 2020. It continues through March 22nd.)

Review – The Dog Walker – Jermyn Street Theater

February 21, 2020 by

A neurotic writer asks a dog walker to assist her with the insurmountable task of taking her pet into the outside world. They meet. Romance ensues. Seems like a very logical plot for a play, right? Only in Paul Minx’s The Dog Walker, it is most clear that what we are watching is not a romantic comedy, although it does seem to be teetering on comedy lines. Keri (Victoria Yeates) is a high strung writer who sits in her apartment window shouting abuse (and encouragement) at the people that pass by on the sidewalk below; Herbert Doakes (Andrew Dennis) is a Caribbean immigrant who has been unlucky in love (although he’s quite gifted in the job department as he also works as a custodian). Both of them seem to be very believable and interesting characters.

However, as Doakes reveals himself scene by scene (he’s mostly a figure of comedy in the first act), he begins to seem creepier and creepier. He’s not just a dog walker, or a middle aged man in a strained marriage, he’s a slightly delusional stalkery person with a very poor sense of boundaries. Keri similarly doesn’t have very good boundaries but her offers of alcohol and general hostility don’t seem quite as frightening – she’s ignorable. But for rather a lot of the time after Doakes comes back to Keri’s apartment with her dog’s ashes, I began to expect the play would take a much more sinister turn. In the end, Keri’s offer to marry simply for health insurance makes an exchange of sex for non-romantic motives seem nearly sensible … but I couldn’t believe she would want to do this given the personal safety issues.

The Dog Walker - Victoria Yeates (Keri) and Andrew Dennis (Herbert) at Jermyn Street Theatre. Credit to Robert Workman

Victoria Yeates and Andrew Dennis. Credit to Robert Workman


The final act of this play treats the earlier issue of the ghost that Keri sees more realistically, grounding it in a personal tragedy so that it becomes more of an element of her personality and life story rather than just the leftovers of an accident she saw through her window. And yet, despite the fact that this revelation should have generated a lot my sympathy for her, I found myself just not finding the truth in her story. Losing a child is actually the kind of thing that draws a much more solid line through a person’s life, and the depression she was experiencing in the first act could in no way be seen as actually being caused by grieving. I just didn’t buy it. It felt tacked on.

Although the characters they inhabited seemed drawn with rough edges, I found both Yeates and Dennis very watchable. She seemed perfectly the high strung writer who wasn’t coping with real life very well; he was a compelling man with richer layers underneath the persona of “comedy relief dog walker.” But ultimately the relationship that developed between them was not one I was able to swallow. Minx says in the program that he paused this play for some time; I feel it would benefit from more time to find itself and its story still.

Review – Sleeping Beauty – Greenwich Theater

December 7, 2019 by

Andrew Pollard’s annual Panto offering at the Greenwich Theater has become one of my seasonal favorites … it has a genuine home-grown feel, with fresh talent, gaudy and cheery sets, and an emphasis on storytelling, music, and fun that make it heads above the very commercial outings that make it on the ATG circuit. Putting a TV star on stage, or the winner of a “talent” contest, might be a good way to sell tickets, but it does not guarantee a good show. But taking a talented team and bringing them back together year after year – and fleshing the group out fresh drama school graduates getting lucky breaks – ensures the show itself is the star, and lucky audience members get to see the results – a panto with lots of laughs at a price you can afford.

This year the panto is Sleeping Beauty and it’s a celebration of the Greenwich theater’s 50th anniversary. Now, it seems unlikely that this theater is actually only 50 years old, but it did actually wake from a “long sleep” in the 60s, when it was refurbished after spending many years as a bombed out wreck. So the story of a young actor discovering a treasure in the storage area of the old theater isn’t too far off – only in the version we see on stage, what Ewan (Regan Burke) finds is a magic egg – the Fairy Faberge (Funlola Olufunwa) that transports him back from the swinging 60s to Russia in the age of the Czar.

Now the Russia scenes were where I was really grooving on this show. The backdrops of painted buildings with spiraling eggs on top were so pretty, and I loved the interiors that had designs taken off of Russian eggs. It’s also not the fantasy world I usually think of for Sleeping Beauty, though it was very much a fantasy because the Tsar was “Ivan the Slightly Irritable” (Martin Johnston) and his enemy was Rasputin (Anthony Spargo), who got a loud accompaniment of “Rah Rah Rasputin” every time he came on stage, much to MY delight (I’m a fan of music of that era). I think Baba Yaga would have made more sense, but she doesn’t have a catchy tune. The Princess (Anastasia – of course! – Esme Bacalla-Hayes) was pretty and lovable and had SUCH a voice, can I say her version of “Seasons of Love” was my musical highlight of the evening?

Of course we all know that neither the male nor female lead can be the star of the show – it has to be the dame! And Andrew Pollard as Tsarina Bertha delivers in spades, with an endless series of corny costumes, many bad jokes (I honestly had no idea a black pudding was shaped like a sausage), and enough ad lib to keep the rest of the cast very much on their toes. The designated audience target was not playing along very well the night I went, however, and everything seemed fairly controlled – things will probably become even sillier as the run progresses (this review was on press night, a week after it started).

Things became VERY silly when the Anastasia and the court reconvened in the 60s – in fact, they went to the moon! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dame in a space suit, and I’ve certainly never pelted the stage with moon rocks before! Somehow the kids managed to NOT actually hurt anyone, and we of course had a happy ending – much like the Greenwich Theater has.

That said – I almost feel like this panto was playing it a bit safe – almost no political jokes, although a reasonable dose of off color ones. I wonder: has the political situation become so dire that even a smaller theater is afraid to tweak the nose of the rich? Or perhaps Pollard was thinking his jokes could go stale overnight with an election smack in the middle of the run! Hard to say but I think the rich and politicians could have used QUITE a bit more being made fun of. Hopefully next year we’ll get a bit of zip and zing back in it – Panto is one of the few places where the disempowered fight back, and I want to see more of this!

(This review is for a show that took place on Friday, November 29, 20119. It runs until January 12th.)

Review – “Master Harold and the Boys” and “The Ice Cream Boys” – National and Jermyn Street Theaters

October 18, 2019 by

To understand South Africa, I think there is much to be said for understanding the works of Athol Fugard; and to enjoy “The Ice Cream Boys,” I think it is good to know the history of South Africa. “Master Harold and the Boys” is, in fact, a perfect set up to understand a play about the modern condition of South Africa, in which freedom has been won but so little equality has been achieved. In “Master Harold,” currently showing at the National, we are faced with a situation of incredible inequality, where two grown men have to bow and scrape before a teenaged boy who’s power over them is less about the fact that they work for his mother and more about the color of his skin. The play teases out both the incredible humanity that could exist between the races in this situation and the incredible inhumanity that the entire structure of apartheid enforced; it is a beautiful piece of theater, very touching, and Lucien Msamati gives a masterful performance as ballroom dancing champion Sam. Its hour and forty minutes is worth it to the last drop.

The apartheid government kept this play from being staged, but forty years later things in South Africa are very different. In “The Ice Cream Boys,” currently playing at thte Jermyn Street Theatre, Gail Louw puts Jacob Zuma (Andrew Francis), fourth president of South Africa, in a hospital room with white Ronnie Kasrils (Jack Klaff), and a different kind of power play spins out. Zuma and Kasrils fought together to liberate South Africa, but Kasrils sees Zuma as a traitor to the cause of equality. Zuma, meanwhile, sees Kasrils as a traitor to himself – he once saw him as a brother, but Kasrils has taken actions to directly discredit Zuma.

As they recount their history together, the nurse (Bu Kunene) appears several times playing other people in South Africa – Mandela, Zuma’s uncle – giving other people’s views on Zuma’s life. But in the end, fending off Zuma’s play for her and also giving her own opinions, she delivers a cutting analysis of how this president is seen by the people he was meant to serve – as selfish and out of touch with what is needed to make South Africa flourish.

While I had been hoping for a much more ramped up interaction between the two men, I found this way of learning about South Africa’s history in the years SINCE “Master Harold” very interesting. Francis is magnetic and self assured, while Klaff seems believably like someone who once carried a machine gun to make a revolution happen. But somehow the impact is not as strong as I’d hoped for, I think because Kasrils’ work in the security services to me implicated him in other kinds of crimes against South Africa. Perhaps he only rose to power once the ANC was in; but I doubt that his behavior was as high minded as this play makes it.

Overall, my recommendation is to see both plays while they’re on; they paint a fascinating picture of a country with a troubled past and an unclear present.

(Master Harold and the Boys is on at the National Theater until December 17th; The Ice Cream Boys is on at Jermyn Street until November 2nd.)

Review – Hello Again – The Union Theater

September 8, 2019 by

I’ll say this for Schnitzler’s “La Ronde” – there are a million different ways to slice it on stage. Michael John La Chiusa has turned it into a musical, following the original’s form of “each scene being about a couple, the next scene featuring one person from the previous scene and one new person,” even going so far as to mirror the cast of characters – the sex worker, the soldier etc., ending with the sex worker … although Schnitzler has taken some liberties, such has making the poet a writer and the count a senator … but really, it is a very close parallel to the original work. This is the show, “Hello Again,” that is currently on stage at the Union Theatre.

Stylistically, though, with this framework in place, the music and settings off each piece are hugely varied, almost as if it were intended to be a sourcebook for examples of many different styles (rather in the way Chicago played on the different sort of vaudeville acts). Together it adds up to a fantastic showcase for the cast (although the changes in times from World War I to the Sixties and the Seventies did leave my head spinning). And the sexual encounters, while not involving nudity, did manage to get some real electricity going on stage – especially fun in the scene with the nurse seducing her (hopeful) charge. The heat on stage even seemed to hit the fire monitoring system, as we were forced to leave due to an unruly alarm mistaking smoke for actual danger.

Of the cast, my favorite for pure musical joy was Ellen O’Grady, who opened and closed the piece with a warm, winning voice that spoke to me of years on the stage. It seemed almost a shame to have so many people in the cast – in that it seemed a waste to only have each of them in two numbers! I mean, come on, we got to the seventies, where was the orgy? At least we got to have some same sex scenes, both in a scene set in the early 20th century and one hitting the drugs-and-disco era.

Overall, though, I didn’t find this show blew me away, in part because the episodic nature of the text made it hard to build dramatic tension, narrative, or character. It’s a problem shared by the original to be sure. Still, as a night of showcase moments, it was pleasant enough and adds a good balance to the hardcore musical or theater goer’s diet.

(This review is for opening night, which took place on Friday, August 20th, 2019. It continues through September 21st.)

Review – Room Service – Two Right Feet at the Bread and Roses Theater

September 5, 2019 by

It’s been a good summer for plays about robots in my book – first Space Age Love Songs,
and now this charming tale about data gone wild set in a much nearer future. Well, the days when having a robot that perfectly looks like a human being are probably very far off; but the underlying premise of this play, that of the amount of knowledge available about individuals in the cybersphere and what could be done with it, seems like a story that really is only about two years further off than right now.

Science fiction is often used as a way to examine social issues by looking at potential outcomes from a more distant viewpoint. In this case, Max has been sent to a town not far from where he lives to do a week on site, for reasons nobody cares about; what matters is that when he walks into his hotel room, he is greeted by a service robot, Zahra, who is FAR more knowledgeable about his desires than Max is comfortable with. Is he eating properly? Zahra thinks not, based on CCTV recordings of Max going to MacDonalds and having late night kebabs. Can she be sure? Well, yes, by doing a chemical analysis of his poo. And how does Richard find out this has happened? By discovering that his morning fry up has been replaced with meusli by the oh-so-concerned-for-the-guest Zahra. Some of the easy jokes are gotten out of the way quickly (Zahra talking is overheard by Max’s wife), some of the easier jokes are completely avoided (to my ABSOLUTE joy Max did not try to get fresh with Zahra, constantly seeing her as simply a robot – easily, I think, represented by just a voice but far more compelling for us as an audience to have Emma Stannard, with her glorious glow in the dark pink hair, to watch _being_ a robot), but the set up for simple philosophy gets pushed further and winds up developing into quite a story line.

You see, not trying to hump robots aside, Max is very human in being not particularly logical, and in being impulsive, and in being ruled by chemicals and memories and inadequate data in a way that Zahra is not. This leads to him doing things, in one mere week, that look likely to mess his life up but good. And can Zahra help under her terms and conditions, as signed when Max went onto the webiste?

As a full length yet short show, I found this show both emotionally compelling and an example of damned fine story telling, with the tousle-haired Andrew Mullan believable as a young businessman settling down somewhat awkwardly into fatherhood, and the expressionless (yet fully controlled in a perfectly “I’m a robot way”) Stannard just deliciously smooth and, who would think it, sympathetic as the collection of bits and data that really just wants to make sure that her client is well taken care of. It was a rare and perfect bit of science fiction theater that asked some very timely questions about how we are living today and wrapped it all up in a tight little narrative package that absolutely took us somewhere with feelings – even if robots aren’t meant to have them, we most certainly are, and I did. It’s only on for a few more days, but make the trek down to the Bread and Roses, it’s well worth the effort.

(This review is for the opening night performance, which took place on Tuesday, September 3, 2019. It continues through Saturday September 7.)

Review – Death and Botany – Fifty-Five Kings at Camden Fringe Festival

August 18, 2019 by

I have a budding interest in necromancy thanks to all of the research I did on HP Lovecraft’s classic short story “The Thing on the Doorstep,” as translated into the genderswitched Asenath’s Tale. It’s fun to do necromancy on stage; you get to have actors playing multiple people inside the same body – something that doesn’t usually happen in the world of entertainment outside of the multiple retellings of The Parent Trap (and Big). But when I saw that Atticus Orsborn was doing a play on a wanna-be necromancer at the Camden Fringe festival, I was convinced to crawl out of my own show making hell and actually spend a night in the theater again. Death and Botany, hit me with your best shot!

The show started out with a heavy dose of spooky (not that a bit of “Bela Lugosi is Dead” is ever a bad choice), almost immediately going into a Satanic ritual that looked like it had been created with a bit of though aforehand. Fair enough, a little hair raising pleases most of the punters, but were we going to actually descend to that “anything related to the devil is inherently scary” low level of fright that frankly makes for flabby theater? Fear not! For nearly immediately it was made clear that our hero – or, well, perhaps “protagonist” – was really just not quite the master of the dark arts that he wished. And, true to the description, we were able to move a little sideways into reality (where, you know, necromancy is impossible, not that people might not try) and do a bit of dark comedy. Hurray!).

So … Eli (Osborn) is a young man with an obsession. He is obsessed with becoming a necromancer. To that end, he spends ages reading occult books in the local coffee shop (to the bemusement of barista Emma – Fran Hess) and going home and practicing ritual magic – and wearing a cape everywhere he goes. According to his mom, Nancy (Sonja Doubleday), he’s even managed to move out of the house, but due to his penchant for drying dead rats, he’s found himself thrown back into the arms of the family. This isn’t so great for Nancy, because some years after her husband Dean’s death, she’s finally started a romance with a handsome silver-haired gardener, Terry (Adam Templar). She’s afraid Eli might not like Terry – or, more likely, that Terry won’t want to date a woman who lives with a son who appears to be be crazy – or maybe even a psychopath. But it turns out, Terry wants to win Eli over … putting himself into a dangerous position.

The stakes for the play are raised fairly quickly when we are shown that Eli is not just a puffed up lunatic – he’s a puffed up lunatic who’s succeeded in raising the dead. Can he make friends with a single human being no … but wait, this must be qualified as “can he make friends with a single LIVING human being” because Eli has DEFINiTLY made inroad with, shall we say, the more corporeally challenged amongst us. And while it’s hysterically funny that he’s succeeded in incarnating a soul into a bonsai tree, with Eli’s problematic grounding in morals and ethics (not uncommon amongst necromancers, to be sure), the question of how he will use his powers becomes a presence that hovers over the stage. Eli has been written (and is played) most convincingly as a nerdy, not-connected guy with an inflated sense of self importance – and we, the audience, know that actually both Terry and Nancy might have something to genuinely fear. Sure, it’s charming that Eli misses his dad as much as he does … but there’s no doubts that having the powers he does with no counterbalancing morals is a dangerous situation.

Making this all more fun is the comic friendship that DOES develop between Eli and Elly and, let’s be honest, Templar’s fine turn as Terry (and a few other characters). Despite the story being so outlandish, the grounding that the four performers give it – including dismissive-to-disgusted Nancy – make the story even more compelling. In fact, the comedy got ratcheted up so high that I felt we were heading toward “Shaun of the Dead” territory – absolutely funny enough to keep me put, but scary enough for me to have no idea what would happen next. (Shockingly, the three people who snuck out of the auditorium about 2/3 of the way through ALL CAME BACK – a sight I had never seen!)

Overall, this is one of the best and most original horror plays I’ve ever seen, and I ended the evening feeling lucky I’d taken up the offer to review this show. With its flair for both comedy and believable horror, “Death and Botany” is a show I very much hope will be taking the stage again soon.

(This review is for a single night’s performance that took place on Friday, August 16, 2019.)

Edinburgh Preview Review – Passengers – Omnibus Theater (then to Summerhall)

August 3, 2019 by

Two years in to having a transwoman be my top partner in crime, I found myself highly intrigued by Kit Redstone’s new work, which was billed as a “darkly funny and sexy” take on Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder). I was really intrigued how an artist could take this and put it onto the stage. I mean, mental illness has certainly been handled before, even with panache (I think of 4:48 Psychosis when I say this), but this is a bit more complex in some ways. Or in lots of ways. As an artist, I was also interested in seeing how something personal was transformed into a shared experience. Hey, I’m putting my dissociative episodes on stage in Space Age Love Songs, maybe Redstone would have some coping strategies or even a new way of dealing with my own brain?

“Passengers” is performed by three people (Neil Chinneck, Jess Clark and Kit Redstone), who initially appear to be three people thrown in prison together. But we’re given some context, and it’s clear that it’s actually three elements of one person warring inside of that person’s head. The aggressive one that appears to be sometimes truthful – at least when discussing having temper tantrums – is the focal point for the other two, who try to control him and make sense of how he’s responding – and also call him on the lies he tells us (and perhaps believes) about himself.

As the onion starts to unpeel, it becomes clear that the narrator doesn’t particularly understand himself, or even want to believe that he’s done what he’s done, much less why … but the other two voices push and pull and tease the truth out about several things … none of which are very pretty. It could be seen as just about how psychotherapy works or as the actual rise and fall of the dominant elements of a dissociative personality … the second being how I think it was intended, but I liked that it was working on various levels.

While I would never think my head works the same as somebody else’s, I enjoyed having the opportunity to take a ride in someone else’s head. It is a bit claustrophobic and No Exit like – this head is not a nice place to be in (and my goodness the theater was an oven) – but I think in the end it probably made my own head a slightly less scary place to be.

(This review is of a preview performance that took place at the Omnibus Theater, Clapham, on 27 Saturday 2019. It shows 14.30 daily at Summerhall in Edinburgh 31 July – 25 August.)