Katharsis by Yvette Nolan @ Prairie Theatre Exchange (limited recording)

I viewed this via Prairie Theatre Exchange on Vimeo, during their limited free availability of the piece on demand.

Yvette Nolan has written a love letter to the theatre. It is gentle and kind, acknowledging the uncanny situation we find ourselves in — desperate for connection and stories, but unable to serve them in our preferred in-person manner. A time when theatre is more necessary than ever, and yet impossible in its old form.

The use of the enormous and empty PTE mainstage space is delightful. Tracey Nepinak guides us with comfort and reassurance, reminding us that we’ve been paused before, but will come back. She is charming and engaging (as always), and I honestly couldn’t imagine a better actor for this role.

A delightful treat of a piece in response to these pandemic times.

Heroes of the Fourth Turning by Will Arbery @ Playwrights Horizons

I viewed this during the live to zoom performance, presented by Jeremy O. Harris in October 2020.

Will Arbery’s Pulitzer finalist play is challenging, both in terms of the characters it presents, and the ideas it demands we confront. Framed around 4 young people reuniting at their faith-based college for an event celebrating one of their teachers receiving a prestigious promotion, the 4 are now at an afterparty, perhaps a bit tipsy, and dealing with the roiling emotions that are inevitable when a person returns to a place after some time.

These are challenging individuals, who bring us in to their world not through immersion, but through subversion; at first, the characters say and do things that seem perfectly “normal” (read; liberal) however as the play unfolds and their relationships and discussions return to old familiarities, their positions and statements begin to bristle against this. These individuals are completely familiar and yet altogether alien. They remind us that the people whom we may want to vilify in our thoughts for having views that seem untenable to us, may actually be more like us than we think.

The play, for me, demands we question the belief too tightly held, so aggressively and fervently grasped that it is morphed, and morphs us.

This was a re-staging for zoom of the original Playwrights Horizons production. Leveraging the individual screens of Zoom, director Danya Taymor created the dark stillness of a rural evening beautifully. While the stage version would have had all four in the same space, something unique happened when the actors were divided, when we saw each of them facing the camera directly, arguing with one another, but also somehow peering into the eyes of the viewer. The shifting quips and opinions, short responses bubbling into one another, in this format felt like a Facebook argument come to life.

I don’t want to give too much away, but would simply encourage that if you have the chance to read it or see it, do.

Titus Andronicus - The Complete Works Tabletop Shakespeare at Home - Forced Entertainment

I watched this via Forced Entertainment’s Youtube channel - the Complete Works Tabletop Edition is available through November 30th.

I’ll admit it: i love the ridiculousness of Jacobean drama. I find it so much more fun and silly than the more serious and self important poetry of the Elizabethan period. I love to think about ways to stage these ridiculous scenes, the gory fights and tricks on one’s enemy.

What was best about the Forced Entertainment Tabletop version is that really, we just got those best bits - the crappy way these humans behave to one another, the silliness of revenge. Despite the serious subject matter I found myself laughing out loud at the absurdity of several moments — moments that would be performed with pathos by a human, but when represented by a goblet or a beer bottle, are revealed for their triviality. Perhaps even the triviality of the supposed “big” moments in theatre as a whole, and even more so, of humans in general, in this year when really no one is thriving, but we are all just working to stay alive.

I was on a panel earlier this year, where I was probably in the minority as someone who think that the stories are what are exciting in Shakespeare. I mean yeah, the language is beautiful but sometimes it is just a lot. In that discussion, I tried to raise this series as an example of reasons people shouldn’t be intimidated by Shakespeare, but rather embrace the possibilities of the text, the spaces in between what is written down and what we see.

Anyway, if you love stories and objects and people talking, I strongly recommend checking out at least one of the Tabletop Complete works. They are available through November 30th and might just help you divorce yourself from all those feelings of inferiority to the language or story or magnitude of Shakespeare, and remind you that he was just a dude, re-telling some stories.

What The Constitution Means to Me - Heidi Schreck (recorded)

I watched this on Amazon Prime, where it continues to be available. It is a filmed performance from 2019 when the show was performed on Broadway, directed by Marielle Heller.

I have been excited about this play since I first heard Heidi Schreck talk about it on Brian Koppelman’s podcast, The Moment. There is an energy about the way she spoke about the play, and the awe with which Brian described it, that intrigued me. Framed around Schreck’s real life story of travelling around the US debating on the constitution to win prize money to pay for college, what begins as an almost too-real personal confession, quickly spins into a deep and scathing indictment of the treatment of women throughout American history.

Schreck’s performance is singular in its simplicity. She rarely feels performative, even when we see her as her 15 year old self. She is raw and honest in her storytelling. The convention for how the story is told shifts repeatedly, peeling back layers of artifice until we reach the final third of the play which is no longer a play, but a live debate of ideas between two fierce debaters. So rooted in the ancient Greek agon, this is simultaneously the most and least theatrical aspect of the play.

The design is simple, the space does not change but instead the people within the space change and modernize, a stunning metaphor for the old structures which we moden humans must live within, outmoded, but still what we’ve got — the perfect setting for a debate on whether we should continue, or burn it down and start again.

This is a timely watch.

Deer Woman by Tara Beagan @ Downstage Theatre

I watched this play via Downstage Theatre (Calgary) in its recorded form. There are still a handful of showings, through October 18th.

Beagan’s script weaves a stunning story. Lila confesses, we don’t know what to for an excruciatingly wonderful amount of time, in the forest, while moving through stories about her childhood, traumas, her siblings, and more. She is strong. She is funny. She is deadly serious. I won’t give anything away — simply will say that this is a story of strength and taking back power for indigenous women, who are too often pigeonholed and victimized in their representation.

Cherish Violet Blood is a captivating performer, her portrayal of Lila - her eyes burning through the screen to my guts, demanding my attention. Her turns from the serious to the comic or vice versa are beautifully jarring. She shares difficult truths forcefully, yet with a gentle familiarity of someone who is tired of telling these same stories to people who do nothing.

While this has played around the world, this is the first production in Canada — filmed for this moment, it appears, this is one of the best transferences of a play to recording that I have seen. The theatrical device in the play helps - Lila is recording her act - however the production transcends this, to live in a space between what we normally take as “live” and recorded performance.

Alice and the World We Live In by Alex Haber @ FemFest 2020

Due to COVID, Sarasvati are offering many of their productions digitally via live stream as well as with limited in-person seating. I viewed this live-streamed - there is one more performance Sept 26.

This was initially planned as a full production, indoors in a theatre, however when COVID meant that was not possible, Sarasvati reworked the concept for the show to be a staged reading outdoors, using simple lighting, sound, and representative design. The actors wore mics, which allowed of course for the live stream audio pickup, but also for the integration of sound design and effects on the live voices.

Elena Anciro and Ray Strachan had the challenging task of portraying intense love and loss, while not coming close together — speaking to one another from the tops of three picnic tables set apart from one another. Their connection is believable and meaningful, despite the physical distance — their early meeting scenes charming, and the flashbacks to arguments convincing.

The script hops around in time, which at first is challenging to follow - there is a crisis, there is a meet-cute (which repeats and re-shapes nicely) and there is the current moment. These intersperse through the script, hopping in time, which in a reading scenario is difficult. At times it felt the script would have benefited from more clarity on this front; the most effective scenes were the ones where they stayed in place for longer, and where the blend into a new time was a subtle continuation of the conversation rather than a cinematic hard cut. This may have also benefited the overall pace of the script, which began to feel less nuanced around the middle section.

Production-wise, it was nice to see the use of a mix of camera angles for the live stream. A limitation, of course, was that the harsh lighting for an outdoor production made it difficult to see the actors faces at times. Similarly, early introductions of sound effects on actors were a challenge to discern whether this was a poor connection, or an intentional design aspect. All in all, this raised questions for me (in a good way) about how to stage work for in-person and filmed streaming simultaneously, and appropriately leverage the mediums.

My Arm - Tim Crouch @ Shedinburgh

I watched this via Shedinburgh, the online Edinburgh Festival event, in August 2020. This is a very tardy blog.

Having seen this brilliant play live, performed by Tim himself, at Harbourfront Centre in Toronto a few years ago, and knowing first hand the role that interaction with the audience plays, I was intrigued to see how Tim would adapt to the live Zoom performance. The play requires audience members to share objects — this sharing is integral to the story of art and ownership and permission that unfolds — so key to the success of the play. Audience members were invited to share a photo of an object, rather than the object itself, ahead of the performance — from which Tim selected and showed the images on screen in moments where the objects themselves may have been handled.

Thinking about images and the lack of control we have of images that are shared over the internet, this change was profound — an innocently shared photo became something else, something you may or may not have liked it to represent. Striking in these times.

Beyond this, of course Tim is an engaging storyteller - captivating in his manner and pacing. The staged version already leveraged video and this was not lost in the Zoom performance. Frankly, this adaptation presented new and unique thoughts about the script and story, and is a brilliant example to other theatre makers of how to use the limitations of the medium to our advantage. Live and real yet also recorded and distanced.

Magical stuff.

What Happens To You, Happens To Me by Susanna Fournier - Canadian Stage

This is a free audio experience you can listen to here, until August 1, 2020.

This fresh new isolation-inspired audio play from Susanna Fournier is an exploration of connection, of storytelling, of collaboration. We hear one voice (the delightful Kristen Thomson) inviting us to listen and connect with her. I listened to the audio-only version (there is also a version with video images if you prefer), and spent the approximately 16 minutes thinking through questions of time and hope, and more importantly, what comes next.

The piece asks audiences to engage with it, although the parameters of this are unclear. Many questions are asked, divided into chapters, but really it is the final question that is pressing and holds urgency.

Definitely worth checking out before it is gone.

Ritual - Podcast Plays from Dirty Protest Theatre & National Theatre Wales

Ritual is a series of 3 audio plays curated by Dirty Protest Theatre in Wales, with National Theatre Wales. You can listen to them via your favourite podcast service, details and links here.

I listened to these in order. In their materials, Dirty Protest indicate that their intent is for us to listen while we do our daily ritual - the laundry, the washing up, exercise - so I took them with me for some daily tasks.

Soaring by Hefin Robinson tells the story of two “penpals” who communicate with one another at the edge of the millennium, by mailing recorded tapes. A younger man and an older woman, on opposite parts of the country, communicate back and forth, reaching an intimacy between them despite being strangers, as they confess to one another, and work out their personal challenges. The story is captivating; I listened while out for a walk, and found myself completely immersed in the tension of the piece.

Double Drop by Lisa Jên Brown is the story of a young girl, wrestling with her own desire to be herself in the 90’s rave scene counterculture, yet finding her own actions at conflict with this desire to distance herself from her family’s reputation. What is really exciting about this piece is the pace at which it moves, and the way the beautiful compositions by 9Bloc drive the play forward. I listened to this one while out shopping, and found my own pace increasing with the intensity of the lead character, Esmi’s, energy and concern.

Unbound by Remy Beasly, focuses on two women. Funnily enough, although I listened to this one doing the least activity — sitting on my balcony enjoying a sunset — I somehow remember the least about the words and the story. That isn’t to say it wasn’t interesting, but something in the rhythm of the women’s conversation, the use of sound, lulled me into just thinking about that, and not the words or what was happening to the characters. It almost felt like I was overhearing a conversation nearby.

The trio of plays were recorded in the actor’s homes, and then edited together. The whole series is directed by Catherine Paskell. They are well worth taking a little time to check out, as the sound design and performances are fantastic, and the stories, especially Soaring, seem to mirror our own moment of separation from one another.

Les Blancs by Lorraine Hansberry - National Theatre [Recording - 2016]

I watched this in recording via the National Theatre archive. You can watch it here until July 9.

Although this production was performed in 2016, the positioning of the story by director Yael Farber, the musical choices, every aspect of this production feels like it could have been conceived last week. The set is a skeleton of a house, long and thin, which turns on the revolve. We see through any artifice of this building, as Hansberry’s script and Farber’s searing direction tears away any artifice of these characters, particularly the white inhabitants and perpetrators of the mission.

The story is layered and complex; as time passes, our initial impressions of the characters and their relationships crumble to reveal what each character really is. Farber weaves music through the script, both in live representation via the women who walk in a procession across the stage multiple times, and also from offstage. Even early on, this music rings true and causes us to identify the hollowness of the words and actions of the white colonizers.

The irony of the American journalist coming in to ask questions, challenging what he sees and being confronted by the Africans about the racism rampant in his own country, is even more resonant than could have been anticipated, it seems.

The pace at which this production moves makes it feel like boulder tumbling down a steep hill. It picks up speed, that something terrible is coming feels inevitable and visible, yet we don’t know what. When that thing comes, it is a shock - and the space, the air that follows, feels noxious.

Please make time to watch this.

Chekhov's First Play - Dead Centre [Recorded - 2018]

I watched this in recording, from a 2018 performance in Dublin. Unfortunately it was a limited time, but follow Dead Centre in case they make it available again.

While it is performed live, the audience are provided headsets to listen; this is explained at the onset by the director, who tells us he wants to explain the symbolism and meaning of the production, which can be lost in Chekhov for modern audiences. The audience dutifully put their headphones on, and hear the director’s voice in their ear; first explaining things about Chekhov and the play, but shortly also critiquing the actors, explaining cuts, or complaining of errors. Just at the moment this begins to feel self indulgent, the set begins to fall apart (at one point a literal wrecking ball smashes bits) and the Chekhov that the director had tried so diligently to explain to us has itself fallen apart. We are left with snippets, moments, symbols, the precise opposite of the naturalism so often aligned with Chekhov’s writing, and so much clearer as a result.

I don’t want to give too much away, so won’t say much more, other than to offer a question regarding the audience member who is physically brought into the performance. Clearly this individual is pre-selected and receiving their instruction in a special headset — but what else is different about this individual’s experience? And how is their agency and willingness to be involved to such a degree mediated? Not knowing this, I was concerned about their opportunity to opt-in, to give consent to participate in this manner. Has anyone declined?

This was a really unique production which asks a lot of questions of its audience and material - but did leave me with some. That said, well worth seeing if you have the chance.

Small Island adapted by Helen Edmundson - National Theatre [recorded 2019]

I watched the recording of the 2019 production via The National Theatre here - you can too until June 25.

First things first; Leah Harvey is an absolutely charming performer. Without question, her liveliness and tenacity propel this story, and demand our attention. This is a truly outstanding feat, considering the size of the production (40 actors!! The Olivier!!!) and a stunning visual design, accompanied by strong ensemble performances. Somehow Harvey manages to sparkle through it all, the glint in her eye or the pain she is feeling superseding every ounce of the highly impressive stagecraft going on around her.

On the whole, the movement of this production - the people, objects, everything - was fluid and captivating. Rooms merging in and out of one another, spaces transforming before our eyes.

The play tells one story of the Windrush generation, Black Jamaicans who moved to the UK in the post-war period, sold the story of a better life, better opportunities — and met with racism and prejudice that persists in today. The story itself, adapted from Andrea Levy’s epic novel, is compelling, insightful, and heartbreaking. It is rare that an adaptation fulfils, and yet makes me hungry to read the original — I immediately put the book on my “to read” list.

The magnitude of this story, the scope and breadth of it, were beautifully apparent throughout the production. While Small Island focuses on 4 key individuals and their journeys, the overall feeling - with a largely empty stage filled with mapped projections, bodies, shadows, reminds us that this is just one storyline of hundreds.

Try to catch this one if you can.

Pass Over by Antoinette Nwandu - Recorded @ Steppenwolf, Chicago

I watched this on Amazon Prime, after the stage production @ Steppenwolf Theatre Chicago was recorded by Spike Lee and released for viewing. This was recorded in 2017.

Spike Lee sets up the recording of this play beautifully, putting it in the framed context of a group of people travelling by bus, from the neighbourhood where the play takes place, to the theatre. Immediately it is a reminder of the proximity and distance between these two worlds. Danya Taymor’s production gives Antoinette Nwandu’s words space to play. The set (by Wilson Chin) is sparse, wide, dim - yet littered with objects. In this space, the empty street corner, we meet two young men, trapped and isolated, yet surrounded by reminders of the outside world, whether through the objects on the stage, the buzzing streetlamp to indicate day or night, or the more confrontational sounds of gunshots. Despite these reminders, the pair dream and plan, aiming to find a way to a new life. They want more but are aware of the challenges of this world — anxious to start and yet wholly unable to do so. Frozen in their moment.

This is interrupted, however, when the white character arrives - first reflective of seemingly well-intentioned white liberals, careful to choose their words, but ultimately, when it comes down to it, seeking to retain his power and therefore the subjugated position of the two black men. The air itself seemed to change when he entered — the reactions of the two more guarded, more careful, and the possibility of danger more imminent than when bullet sounds threw the pair to the ground. When he leaves, nothing is the same again. Later interactions become increasingly violent — the next white character who enters is a police officer, whose racism is overt, but somehow less sinister than that of the well-intentioned liberal. The two white characters keeping the same name, and are played by the same actor. The elbow of oppression present in all white faces we see on the stage, no matter their stated intentions.

Pass Over weaves together a re-think of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot with biblical imagery, and a bold depiction of the true state of power and racism in today’s world. Despite movement forward, ultimately this story ends worse than it began, and with power in the same place. This was written in response to Trayvon Martin’s death, but could easily have been about the events of the past few weeks.

The manner in which Lee films the stage production makes you feel as if you are a fourth, silent character, sitting behind the street lamp. We are there, we are bearing witness, yet we sit there and do nothing. The complicity is a palpable call to action.

Mother Courage And Her Children - Bertolt Brecht @ Berliner Ensemble [Recorded 1957]

I watched this in recording here, courtesy of the Berliner Ensemble. You can view it until May 21.

There is a pace about this production, right off the top, which feels aggressive, forceful, necessary. Supported by a revolve (I’m told, run by de-commissioned Soviet tank wheels), pulling an enormous wagon across the stage, Mother Courage and her Children race to. . . to what? Immediately the big questions of the play are apparent. What are they doing? Why? What purpose does it serve?

From here, as each son leaves, as tragedy befalls Kattrin, as Courage’s life falls apart, yet she keeps pressing on, the pace slows, ever so subtly. Hints of the slowness emerge in Weigel’s silent scream, or other moments, yet she presses on. Yet by time we reach the final moments of Weigel, alone on stage with her cart, slowly preparing to press on again, we are deeply aware of the weight of these things on this woman. The weight of war, of children, of responsibility, of death. . all visible on her shoulders as she picks up the wagon and begins to pull. It is excruciating to watch her circle the stage before exiting.

It was an utter treat to see Brecht’s own interpretation of this material. The manipulation of our sense of time and what time does to these characters was notable; similarly, my own endurance as a viewer was tested. At just under 3 hours, the production challenged me to sit, to watch, to wait. The contradiction between characters moving slowly and those moving quickly, the interspersed songs, the titles and running text between scenes— all caused me to be aware of the artifice, yet Weigel’s (and other) performance was so visceral. The conflict of feeling empathy toward her, and anger toward the system she perpetuates and profits from was palpable.

It is worth noting that this is in German, with no subtitles. Honestly, you don’t need them. Watch and enjoy.

Caretaker - Hester Chillingworth @ Royal Court

You can view Hester Chillingworth’s installation Caretaker here, for as long as the Royal Court is closed due to COVID.

I really love the stillness of this installation from Hester Chillingworth; a camera is positioned facing the Royal Court’s Jerwood stage, which was set for the next day’s performance of Shoe Lady by E.V. Crowe, when London theatres were closed due to COVID. I’ve visited this a few times now, and there are subtle changes over time. The notes indicate there are occasional audio messages, though I’ve not heard any.

The peacefulness of an empty theatre is something non-theatre people are unlikely to experience. The space, while empty, feels resonant with life, the echoes of the moments that have happened there before. It is an extremely comforting space for me, the empty theatre. It demands nothing, but is steeped in possibility, which is really what we need right now.

Take a moment to pop in if you can.

Split Britches: The True Story - Split Britches [Recorded 1984]

I watched this in recording via the Split Britches archive - available here.

It is so exciting to get to reach back in theatre history archives and see work from moments in time which create the trajectory on which my own work rests. Womens stories on stage, non-drama driven story, the mundane and every day presented on stage — these are all present. The Staging is reflective of a slide show, quick blackouts, choreographed minute movements between, reminding us of the artifice of presentation. Scenes repeat and circle back, seemingly static, yet things change.

I also loved the recording itself; it zooms in on small moments that may or may not be related to the speaking, allows the speaker to walk off screen while focusing on another character’s reactions. In the same way that a viewer’s eye in the theatre may linger elsewhere, this recording encourages us to acknowledge that, and provides space for this mental wandering. It is a reminder that the words are only a part of what matters — but rather that each minute detail makes up the whole.

A really wonderful piece to view for those whose work lingers in feminist ways of storytelling, to remind us of where we have come from.

Sea Wall by Simon Stephens [Recorded 2012]

I watched this in recording - it is available here until May 18 for free, or to purchase via www.seawallandrewscott.com

Quarantine is confronting me with many uncanny encounters with scripts I know inside out, as performed in their first production, which due to living in the hinterland, did not get to see. In 2015, I co-directed the Canadian premiere of Sea Wall, featuring the brilliant Rodrigo Beilfuss. I adore Simon’s writing in general, and in particular in this script. It’s powerful imagery, it’s subtle, wave-like rhythms that wash over Alex and the listener, mirroring the way grief creeps in and out of our consciousness.

I had not before seen Andrew Scott’s performance of it. Filmed after the show’s runs in London and Edinburgh, in an empty photography studio, this version of Sea Wall is wonderfully static and contained. Although Andrew moves about the space, the vantage point remains still, fixed. He becomes blurred at times, a beautiful subtlety in the recording which underscores the Alex’s feelings (and our own) of being completely subsumed by the tragedy of the dramatic moment.

One of the things I love best about this script is that although it is extremely active — he is working through his grief — it is also still. All of the action, all of the tension, occurs off stage (in fact, in the past) and rather than seeing things happen, we witness a man dealing with the fall-out of those occurrences, wrestling with his past and what it means for his future. Things that were said. Events that occurred. Loss.

Andrew Scott’s performance is thoughtful, present, and simple. The rawness of the thought process as he works through the events, builds and weaves this story, are breathtaking.

This is some of the finest writing you’ll find, performed to perfection.

I can’t help but compare it to our own interpretation; ours would have likened better, I assume, to the stage presentations in London or Edinburgh, in a small, stuffy, simply lit space. Just an actor, an audience, and this story. One thing that, for me, the recorded version is missing is the collective gasp of realization, the moment when the shoe drops (of what the hell he is even talking about) just over two thirds in. In a room with about 35 other people, the power of that moment literally sucked the oxygen out of the room. You could feel the collective gasp and unwillingness to exhale. The audience completely captivated by this moment, this story - unsure of how to act. Perhaps it is because I watched it with my family (who of course had seen it) but I missed that. That moment, that unwillingness to exhale, as exhalation on the part of the audience is an act of complicity, of needing to see where this story ends, despite already knowing deep down what comes next.

That is the magic of the collective experience.

End Meeting For All - Forced Entertainment

I watched this in recording. You can watch Part 1 here. You can watch Part 2 here. Both are available until June, and Part 3 airs May 12.

Disjointed. Unfocused. Overwhelming.

Forced Entertainment’s End Meeting For All series are improvised public group calls between company members isolated in their homes. Each begins abruptly, and ends abruptly, yet despite the improvisational nature, a structure appears. People ignore others in the call. People get distracted and wander away. People remain deeply focused on a single object or question to the point of irritation. Technology fails (or does it?).

This reflection of our time, when interaction with our closest friends, colleagues, and family members is largely through the blue-white glare of a computer monitor, is stunning. Forced create a piece of performance that is at once anti-performance, and high-performance. We are all living in this recognizable yet utterly foreign version of our world. It is funny, it is sad, it is at times bleak.

This is theatre for isolated times.

Anatomy of a Suicide by Alice Birch [recorded 2017 - SchauSpielHaus]

I watched this in recording here - although this production isn’t up any longer, there are more great productions to see.

Alice Birch’s script traces three generations of women over top of one another, through similar moments in their lives. The three timelines occur concurrently, with single conversations existing within each, yet also across - with a response in one timeline seeming to call to a question in another, across decades. Choosing to position the three women in claustrophobic columns, each with their own upstage door, no walls yet feeling clearly they could not leave, in chronological order left to right (from audience view) the matriarch is positioned as having the most power, however as we see, it is the youngest who acts upon her power, where her mother and grandmother succumbed to mental illness.

Alex Eales’ set makes each woman’s room feel like her prison cell, and Katie Mitchell’s direction, keeping the three on stage for the duration, including costume changes which are choreographed and lit as the women stand there like paper dolls awaiting their new outfit. It seems to imply the that each is imprisoned, contained, controlled - almost devoid of the capacity for choice. Strangely, not realizing this was the same designer who did Katie’s Fraulein Julie, this set did make me think of that production as well.

What wasn’t perfectly clear was how and why the youngest is different, until the final moments - deviation from the same choreography and rhythm may have helped us see this capacity to break the cycle, imply its possibility. I wonder whether this could have been baked subliminally into that choreography.

Otherwise, this was a stunning production of an unbelievably challenging text. The rhythm and technique required, while balancing a delightful liveness and action, even in moments where the actor must technically pause for another line, while maintaining intent, was beautiful and an absolute treat to watch.

This was a re-mount of the same production, but with a German cast. I’d be very curious to see the English cast version (Royal Court) as well.

The Complete Deaths by Tim Crouch & Spymonkey [Recorded 2016 @ Shoreditch Town Hall]

I watched this in recording via Spymonkey’s Vimeo account - you can watch it here until April 25. (if it asks for a login, just create a vimeo account, and it will credit you the amount). Note: there are 2 parts.

This is what I needed in isolation. Wild, silly, irreverent, a bit mad. This show does…yes…the complete deaths. All of the onstage deaths in Shakespeare’s plays, acted out in various styles by the company, through a debate over what kind of work they are making. Using the aid of video cameras and projection, musical instruments, and a zillion props, the company make light of the darkness in the plays, showing the strangeness and absurdity of the plays in their most serious moments.

This is fun. it is irreverent. I don’t honestly know what else to say, other than watch it. You will laugh out loud. You will wonder what is going on. And you’ll enjoy it.