Bata de cola, stamps and anguished filled cante jondo!

Passion, anguish and enthrallment, are three sentiments that should reverberate from any flamenco performance and thankfully Eva Yerbabuena’s ¡Ay! ticks many of these boxes. Forming part of Sadler’s Wells Flamenco Festival (now in its tenth year), ¡Ay! is a collection of seven solos, choreographed and performed by Yerbabuena herself, ranging from more experimental fusions interwoven with more traditional flamenco, complete with castanets and rhythmically intricate footwork. Cultural gravitas is provided by three vocalists who embody the tortured spirit of cante jondo superbly, and are accompanied by the melodic sounds of a guitarist, a violinist and a percussionist. ¡Ay!  is an intense and varied depiction of the passion and stomp-filled world of flamenco.

The evening began with a work called Whisper; as Yerbabuena’s hands quivered violently mirroring the violin’s fast-paced vibrato, this coupled with melodramatic mime meant that Whisper could easily be mistaken for a Martha Graham piece. With only the briefest glimmers of movement that was identifiable as flamenco, the piece felt stylistically misguided and seemed like a misleading way to open a self-professed flamenco show. The second solo  that was entitled From Sideways also veered towards the realm of contemporary dance. Yerbabuena, although a strong performer, was dwarfed by the wide expanse of a bare black stage. Fortunately, when Yerbabuena donned her shawl and other traditional accoutrements the audience’s enjoyment level increased as the calibre of the evening soared.

The standout numbers of the programme were Neither You Nor Without You and Black Wings. The first encompassed lightning-speed fancy footwork and ferocious body percussion delivered with coquettish flair that could be likened to a proud peacock parading their illustrious and vibrant tail of feathers as she struts across the space. The finale of ¡Ay! saw Yerbabuena return to stage in a bata de cola (a dress with a long and rather impressive ruffled tail) poised in one of the most extreme backbends I have ever seen. Black Wings was spellbindingly captivating from start to finish. Her performance was indebted to the emotionally explosive prowess of vocalists Enrique El Extremeño, José Valencia and Juan Jose Amador.

Although ¡Ay! took a little while to find its choreographic stride, once it did, it was a real joy to watch. For me, ¡Ay!  lacked the emotionally tangible intensity that one would find in an tableau de flamenco or flamenco bar in southern Spain, an art form that felt swamped by such a large performance space. It may not have been as intimate an experience as I would have liked, but Yerbabuena still knows how to put on a memorable show. Sadler’s Wells Flamenco Festival helps to bring the esteemed flamenco genre into the mainstream spotlight so that it can be enjoyed and revelled in by a wider audience, and that is an ethos that I for one can certainly support.

A torch, some headphones and some deliberation over crisps.

Relying on audience participation to form a key part of your show is a risky business: if you select participants that are reluctant to join in or are just plain non-responsive the entire performance falls flat. With this in mind Non Zero One has cleverly come up with a range of non-verbal ways to stimulate audience interactions that range from shining a torch in agreement, to jotting questions down, to switching your headphones to a different setting. Clearly master of its craft, in parts it even allows the audience to select the level of interactivity that they want to engage in, inviting the extroverts to take centre stage to field questions from the more retiring yet inquisitive audience members. Non Zero One also identifies that within every audience there are always people that would rather bolt out of the door than be railroaded into any form of audience participation; they are given option three of being an ostrich which permits them to listen to some calming music, and are nudged when the interactive experience is over. A clear and astute awareness of audience personality and character traits ensures that everyone is happy and engages with the show at a level that they feel comfortable doing.

The title of the piece and the promotional copy for Mountaineering gives very little away; I imagine that they are deliberately vague so that the audience enters with no idea of what is about to unfold. Instant intrigue is created as you try and second guess what the items in the activity pack will be used for. I’d previously reviewed Non Zero One’s work at the Future Festival and it was interesting to see how it has evolved as a company by taking similar principles and applying them on a larger scale.

Mountaineering asks you to take a moment to reflect on your life choices, considering the way in which sometimes we make choices and other times, due to circumstance, choices are made for us. Non Zero One explores the possibilities of interactive theatre in a playful, charming and engaging manner.

What a mixed bag….

Sadler’s Wells has bestowed the accolade of ‘associate artist’ to 16 choreographers, giving this select group of creatives their golden seal of approval. The Associates is a showcase of three such talents: Kate Prince, Crystal Pite and Hofesh Shechter. All are established and respected in a variety of choreographic arenas, from Prince who is artistic director of the street dance and hip-hop group ZooNation, to Shechter who is known for his political yet nihilistic style. Completing the triple bill is the newest associate artist to join the pack: Canadian-born Pite, whose William Forsythe training resonates loudly through her narrative-filled work. With the pick of the dance world at their fingertips, expectations were high, and I for one was keen to see an evening of work with which Sadler’s Wells had deemed worthy to associate themselves.

Trapped beneath a harsh narrow spotlight we find soloist Tommy Franzén, complete with bowler hat, tail-suit and wooden cane; however, scan down this Charlie Chaplin-inspired outfit and you’ll spot some black Reebok-style trainers – hardly conventional attire, but not surprising really when you consider that ‘SMILE’ is directed by urban choreographer Prince. With Nat King Cole’s song ‘Smile’ blaring out of the gramophone, Franzén embodies Chaplin’s showman-like nature, with slapstick skits and an unquenchable thirst to entertain the crowd. Prince skilfully peppers Charleston and tap dancing movement vocabulary with modern articulated isolations such as popping and locking. An unexpected and abrupt change of pace means that we are yanked out of the golden age of the silent movie and thrust into a rave-filled existence, complete with flashing strobe lights and thumping techno beats. It’s a baffling shift that is flakily explained by Franzén’s character being an insomniac. The remainder of ‘SMILE’ then switches between these two jarring worlds in what, to me, feels like two juxtaposing works that have been shoehorned together. It seems like Prince is keen for Franzén to get all of his choreographic toys out of the toy box, and for the work to be both abstract yet character driven, which for me results in a piece that feels confused as it lacks any clear identity.

The next piece is Pite’s ‘A Picture of You Falling’, a transfixing duet that starts with an omnipresent voice, which begins by naming the body parts that Peter Chu and Anne Plamondon are using as they effortlessly suspend and spin within the space. The pair’s molten lava-like fluidity is a real joy to watch, coupled with a suspense-filled narrative that slowly trickles and teases a wider context, resulting in this being the stand-out work of the evening. Entrancingly lit by Robert Sondergaard, ‘A Picture of You Falling’ is captivating from start to finish, and I’d have happily spent the whole evening in Pite’s mesmerising choreographic realm.

The final work within this triple-bill is Shechter’s ‘the barbarians in love'; like Pite, he also uses an off-stage voice to guide and direct the movement. However the voice that Shechter employs has a more eerie and robotic quality, and sounds quite like a deranged sat-nav. This voice instructs the dancers with commands, to which they then respond with primitive body percussion and ape-like movement. With strong echoes of Shechter’s previous works, but failing to pack the same choreographic punch, you can’t help but feel that Shechter is recycling parts of works we’ve seen before. Much like ‘SMILE’, Shechter’s work also takes a strange turn when his own voice is added to the conversation, as the female robotic voice asks him “Hofesh, what are you doing?” – a question that I also found myself asking. Personally I thought that this self-referential interaction drags on for too long and feels a bit self-indulgent. I quite enjoyed the movement itself but there isn’t enough of it to savour.

The Associates is a very mixed bag, where some aspects of the evening certainly work better than others. These are three talented choreographers and interesting concepts, but I found myself questioning some of their execution.

If you go down to the Vaults today you are in for a big surprise

Beneath Waterloo station, at the end of a graffiti blazon stretch you’ll find the Vault Festival – the epitome of underground theatre. Step inside a cavernous treasure trove of makeshift venues and pop-up bars, and you’ll discover that the spirit of the Fringe is alive, well and thriving in SE1. The reason for my visit was to see Fat Man, a modern retelling of the myth of Orpheus. Now a musician and a stand-up comic, Orpheus recounts his tragic tale in the style of a comedy routine to a crowd that is made up of Cupid and Hades (to name but a few of the deities that sat amongst us). With a bulging shirt and a penchant for donuts and liquor, Orpheus (Martin Bonger) is a witty, moving reframing of a Greek myth, that will make the godly pack laugh in parts yet auspiciously moves them to tears in equal measures.

The epic nature of Greek myths can sometimes render them inaccessible, however Fat Man is told in such an engaging manner that it retains all of the emotionally charged sentiment and still manages to be accessible. In a nutshell, Orpheus is the story of a widower who was told by Hades that he would be reunited with his late wife if he crossed the river Styx without ever once looking back. However, resisting the urge to look back at his beloved wife is nigh on impossible, or as Orpheus surmises in his modern day equivalent of trying to eat a donut without licking your lips (a feat that he attempts twice during the show). Fat Man is a heartbreaking lament of a grief-stricken man consumed by regret.

There were clearly a few classics students in the audience as chuckles reverberated around the room at some of the more obscure Greek references. Although much of Orpheus’s comedy material relies on at least a basic understanding of myths of that ilk, the overall play does not. Some of the comedic material felt a little safe and vacuous. Personally I thought that Fat Man really found its stride when Bonger conveyed raw undiluted emotion: for instance, the moment when he tries to reach out and touch his wife’s shadow and it just evaporates from sight. You can’t help but feel moved by the vulnerability of a broken and dejected man.

Bonger’s performance as Orpheus is faultless. An entrancing and hypnotic soundscape was provided by Philippe Nash, coupled with an ethereal lighting display, and matched perfectly by the dynastic and decrypted setting provided by The Vaults. With a running time of just an hour, Fat Man really packs an emotional punch. As you leave the troubles of the emotionally bankrupt and broken-hearted Orpheus behind, you’re then thrust back into the hustle and bustle of promoters tirelessly handing out flyers for their shows. The spirit of the Edinburgh Fringe is alive and well in a vault in London’s Waterloo.

Hello/Goodbye, a kitchen sink drama

Hello/Goodbye is a kitchen sink drama: however, exactly who that kitchen sink belongs to is a real bone of contention. Having been forced to make a swift exit from her previous abode, Juliet (Miranda Raison) is excited to move into her new flat. Yet what her estate agent failed to mention was the built-in house-warming gift: a gawky male named Alex (Shaun Evans). However it isn’t Juliet’s flat at all, much to her dismay; she discovers that Alex signed the paperwork first, and therefore legally the flat belongs to him. Not wanting to be bogged by down technicalities, an ever melodramatic and highly-strung Juliet demands that Alex vacate the premises immediately. To refer to the protagonists as polar opposites would be an understatement, as Juliet’s spoilt princess-like nature clashes with introverted avid collector Alex. This dynamic forms the crux of Hello/Goodbye: despite their stark differences there is underlying sexual tension between the pair, resulting in a live action rom-com unfolding before our very eyes.

The entirety of the action in Hello/Goodbye takes place within the four walls of the flat, and our critical gaze is therefore intensely focused on this mismatched couple’s idiosyncrasies. Alex’s most prominent quirk is his insatiable need to collect complete sets, of anything and everything, such as his quest to own every Happy Meal toy that McDonalds has ever produced. It’s a trait that is symptomatic of Alex’s need for order and control, which detrimentally manifests itself to cope with any form of chaos. Whereas in complete juxtaposition, Juliet is an erratic and emotional volcano that frequently erupts. Despite this, their innate differences crumble away when faced with their palpable chemistry and sexual attraction.

The work is divided into two clear sections that occur either side of the interval. The first, which refers to the “Hello” portion of the title, is when the pair first meet and squabble over ownership of the flat; after the intermission, 10 years have passed, but unlike before they are now arguing over their messy divorce. Personally I felt that the piece really finds its feet in the latter “Goodbye” section, as it presents the fragile complexities found in the disintegration of a marriage in a believable and multifaceted manner. It is poignant and moving to reflect on the fact that Alex and Juliet start and end the play as strangers.

At its core, Hello/Goodbye is about relationships and the underlying power of what goes unsaid. It works as the characters are well-rounded and easy to relate to; there’s nothing exceptional about this work, but in many ways its depiction of normality is a major part of its charm. Hello/Goodbye provides a snapshot of two pivotal moments in this couple’s journey. The ending is quite predicable and reads like the final page in a fairy tale but, that said, Hello/Goodbye makes for an enjoyable and entertaining evening.

Dante's Inferno, hellishly still relevant

“For the people tired of the same money generating schemes on the West End. For the people who crave different kinds of honesty from their theatre. For the people who have never connected to any theatre. For the people who search. For the people who question. For the people who struggle. For the 99%.” These are the bold and powerful claims that Rocky Rodriguez Jr makes in his director’s note for Dante’s Inferno: A Modern Telling. Staged in the warehouse-like Rag Factory, we meet Dante who is unfulfilled, demoralised and trapped in the rat race, and what’s more he can see no means of escaping his nihilistic existence. Craft Theatre intersperses Dante Alighieri’s original text with sections penned by John Cage, Rocky Rodriguez Jr, and the ever topical Russell Brand. This modern day retelling of Dante’s suffering and quest for redemption still feels as applicable to present day society as when Dante first wrote it, if not more so.

Craft Theatre marks scene transitions with energetic forward rolls, leaps and cartwheels, as Lecoq-inspired physicality informs this entire production. It begins with a dramatic plunge into darkness, where the only glimmer of light is produced by the occasional flickering of a cigarette lighter. In stark juxtaposition, the space is suddenly flooded with bright light – resulting in both audience and the actors being harshly illuminated in a very exposing manner. Every morning Dante gets up, bickers with his wife, crumbles under the strain of an ever mounting workload and then attempts to drown his sorrows in an overpriced pub. Lacking any direction or passion Dante seems destined to sink deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of despair, until one day he snaps and takes out his frustration on a poor and unsuspecting beggar. Striking her in frustration leads to Dante’s arrest. Once incarcerated Dante is forced to face his demons and descend deeper into the cesspit of hell.

Craft Theatre tackles this tale of epic proportions with real gusto and slick delivery which is all the more impressive considering the recent tragic passing of cast member Khan Bonfils. As Dante, Lucas John Mahoney is suitably intense and tortured. Another standout performance was Helen Foster, who played the boss’s uptight and highly strung daughter with superb comic ease. This is a high energy production from start to finish. It contained some very clever moments and it was often the simplest that were the most effective. For instance when Dante is on the brink of his demise, the entire dialogue in his office descends into solely jargonistic terms with differing inflections. Craft Theatre is certainly an accomplished ensemble. However, all too often the group mistook vocal projection for the need to shout, which felt unnecessary and left my ears ringing.

Like Scrooge, Faustus and many other tales of redemption, an enlightened Dante bounds around the stage with a newfound zest for life. A transformation that is made even more humorous due to the blatant parody of Russell Brand. Craft Theatre’s production is clever, ambitious and unlike anything that I have ever seen before. The circles of hell may go by a different name, but the overriding fiery message still resonates and burns brightly.

Dante’s Inferno: A Modern Telling is playing at the Rag Factory until 1 February. For tickets and more information, see the Craft Theatre website.

Any excuse to go back to The Pleasance

The Pleasance Theatre ranks as one of the friendliest fringe venues that I know, a spirit which is echoed in the way in which they programme many of the 400 plus shows that they take up to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in August. In the run-up to the festival their London home plays host to many emerging theatre companies for one night only slots, to see how companies with aspirations of getting to Edinburgh sink or swim in front of an audience.

One such play gracing the stage for their live audition is Nell Gwyn: An Epilogue. By her own admission, Nell Gwyn is an actress and a prostitute – terms which in Nell’s lexicon are interchangeable. In her more respectable profession as an actress, Nell is tired of playing ‘poor Valeria’ in one of John Dryden’s tragedies. Nell’s main qualm appears to be that one of her best assets – ‘her shapely legs’ – are concealed beneath a floor-length muslin gown. A sprightly young Nell (Lucy Formby) would much rather being playing more saucy, comedic roles with costumes that showcase her legs in all of their glory.

Enlisting the help of a bashful audience member to help disrobe her, Nell is able to slip into something a little more comfortable. This self professed ‘darling strumpet of the crowd’ tries to strike a balance between courtesan and comedienne. Flirtatious to the nth degree, Nell launches herself onto the laps of unsuspecting audience members: Formby’s vixen-esque nature seems to revel in the way in which the men plucked from the crowd coyly squirm uncomfortably. Willing to do anything to entertain the crowd, Nell buoyantly erupts into a merry jig as she gleefully frolics around the space. Formby has a cheeky glint in her eye and her endearing nature as a cockney strumpet shines in this one-woman show.

A sassy Nell has aspirations of parading her talents in King Charles II’s bed, as his mistress. In this charming work, Nell recounts her antics and escapades with real gusto, however with only reluctant audience members to bounce off, this epilogue falls a little flat. I think that it could benefit from a few more actors and a more tangible narrative thread.

At present Nell Gwyn: An Epilogue is sweet and fun but overall the work fails to leave a lasting impression. I do hope Nell Gwyn: An Epilogue makes it to the Fringe this year, as I think with a few minor tweaks and revisions, these early seeds of potential, would have the chance to blossom into a great piece of comedic theatre.

Nell Gwyn: An Epilogue played The Pleasance on 16 January.

Putting the talented into The Talented Mr. Ripley!

Much to his parents dismay American-born Dickie Greenleaf, who was supposed to only be in Italy for a few months, keeps extending his stay. Desperate to be reunited with their son, the Greenleafs enlist the help of Dickie’s friend: accountant Thomas Ripley. Despite only having made the briefest of acquaintances with Dickie (at a mutual friend’s cocktail party), an ever-impulsive Ripley decides to accept Mr Greenleaf’s offer to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy to track Dickie down and persuade him to return to the States. For Ripley, his jaunt to Italy proves to be the first step on a catastrophically slippery slope. The Faction Theatre’s staging of The Talented Mr Ripley is an ambitious project that the team pull off tremendously. This is largely thanks to Christopher Hughes’s phenomenal performance as the social chameleon Thomas Ripley: his portrayal was some of the finest acting I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

From Ripley’s iconic opening line: “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?”, which is uttered at breakneck speed, we then tumble into the dark world of Ripley’s stream of consciousness. In many ways, Ripley is like an emotional blotting paper who absorbs and mimics the quirks and character traits of those who cross his path. It is testament to Christopher Hughes’s acting aplomb that he is able to flit between such polarised characters with such ease.

The space is dominated by a large white frame with a smaller cut-out square in the centre, which the ensemble lie beneath, emerge from and cavort around. The production is rife with visual metaphors: for instance, when Ripley is attempting to juggle his own bumbling identity while also embodying the cocksure Dickie, he carries both his own suitcase and the case that formerly belonged to Dickie – as if to say that regardless of the persona he is inhabiting at the time, he is always literally carrying his other self as baggage.

The Talented Mr Ripley forms part of The Faction’s repertory season and the ensemble are also performing Romeo and Juliet and Joan of Arc in rotation, in programming that is linked by the overarching theme of identity. At three hours and ten minutes the work does feel long and could certainly benefit from an outside eye to tighten it in parts. That said, this Mr Ripley is more than just talented – he’s faultlessly brilliant.