It’s not you, it really is them
semi-fictional story about an actor cast in a play that repurposes Shakespeare’s most vitriolic language to condemn domestic abuse. To the actor, it seems to lack the ring of truth. “All I see is monsters,” he says. “I don’t see men.”
At the same time as trying to learn lines that fail to resonate with him, he is dealing with a girlfriend who is questioning if he is as peace-loving as he claims. Starting to doubt himself, he is haunted by the testimonies of boxer Mike Tyson, convicted of rape in 1992, and actor Patrick Stewart, son of a violent heavy-drinking man whom he called a “corrosive example of male irresponsibility”. One delight of the production is Sellman-leava’s spot-on impersonations of Tyson’s nasal Brooklyn drawl and Stuart’s rounded baritone, the two representing different faces of male behaviour.
It’s a dense and demanding script, performed with wit and assurance, that gnaws away at an unknowable question: if violence is a choice, how easily can it be made? MARK FISHER Summerhall (Venue 26) JJJJ “Warning: five hours without intermission” reads the blurb, but then “audience can come and go as they please.” While this might cause you to breathe a sigh of relief, don’t be deceived: you really need to stay to enjoy this intricately structured, real-time relationship break-up, with its thrillingly improvised dialogue, funny reoccurring jokes, and slick, understated story. Yes, tell yourself you can leave mid-way if it makes it easier for you to commit to what must be the longest show on the Fringe. It will only make it more special when you choose to stay.
In a merry-go-round of alternating roles, the five performers take it in turns to play a nameless, non-gender specific protagonist from New Zealand. This self-contained,
0 The Binge Culture bunch creates and destroys a relationship over five hours reserved individual is on holiday in Scotland with their long-term partner, a contrastingly laid-back and increasingly insensitive figure, who is played by the rest of the cast who all chip in lines of dialogue. Our protagonist wants a romantic, relaxed holiday; their partner is more interested in spending time with a chaotic brother (“he’s in a live house band in Berlin”) – and now the latter is on his way for a surprise a visit.
The simple conflict in other hands might be a familiar comedy-turned-tragedy yet it becomes surprisingly absorbing when delivered through real-time dialogue, full of under-announced subtext, which allows for a far richer exploration of the characters than many shorter plays. The first three hours pass surprisingly fast, and, while the pace slows around the fourth – the self-analytical angst of a couple breaking up gains the relaxing quality of watching the sea – we’re simply waiting for the next big wave to come crashing down – which, eventually, it does.
With a level of skill deliberately undermined by the heightened (banana) costumes, the cast’s incredible focus provides an unusually war-torn African countries who have reached the UK through Calais, a lightness of storytelling touch from playwright Dominic Garfield cleverly blends Kipling’s original (a series of short morality tales written as political metaphors for colonial times) with the musical simplicity of Disney’s film remake.
By telling of Garfield’s lead character Mo (Mowgli) as he leaves the care of Fahad Shaft’s Bagheera after a fight and falls into the orbit of the fierce, bear-like Baloo (Joseph Barnes Phillips) and the sinister orangutan leader Louis Slippaz (Oliver Tunstall), this hip-hop musical uses raps which are more narrative than confrontational, delivering a sense of raw and honest reality. DAVID POLLOCK insightful analysis of how difficult it is to get the balance right between partners, family, friends and personal space.
You have got to feel free to choose to be in a relationship, the play concludes; the minute you don’t, or someone tries to change who you are, the whole thing dies.
It is a poignant moment, made all the more so by the significant amount of time it has taken us to get here, participating in the kind of shared experience that makes the Fringe – and particularly Summerhall – great. SALLY STOTT thespace on The Mile (Venue 39) JJ There’s a distinct whiff of shambolic school play to this collection of sub-sub-sub Tarantino borrowings. Seven strangers seek shelter from strange storms in a church. The time period and location are indistinct – as much due to laziness as a stab at surrealism. Performances are no better than they have to be, but at least the cast have fun which, occasionally, proves infectious –butmostlydoes not. The Tarantino influence guarantees that all characters will be lying dead onstage by the end – you just wish that it could have come sooner. RORY FORD