Nanette - No Laughing Matter

As I awkwardly rushed into the Soho Theatre I had no idea what to expect of the nights performance, and little did I care. All I had in mind was running back to see my visiting American friends that I had abandoned at a near by bar. I was pleasantly surprised to figure out that what was about to transpire on stage was a comedy show, being that I am a huge comedy nerd. As the show commenced I was half listening to the material and half watching the time on my phone. Hannah Gadsby was doing the typical stand-up routine I had seen a million times before and although I enjoyed it I can't say that my attention was diverted from my stranded group of friends, but then the energy of the room changed and grew more tense as the jokes began to lessen in regularity. Gadsby did something I had only seen the very best stand-ups do before; she sacrificed getting a laugh and winning the audience over in order to speak honestly about her life and views. I've always heard that most comedians deal with depression in their lives, and this for some reason made sense to me, since I always felt that comedy wasn't a line of work for the mediocre or normal. You have to be a little fucked up to get on an empty stage and try to make strangers laugh. However, Gadsby is very unique from that cliche depressed comedian persona because she lay bear that side of herself that most comedians try so hard to hide. By the end of the show I was in tears, not from laughter but from pure catharsis. I was moved by the sincere retelling of her life story and by the vigor in which she exposed the hypocrisy and fraud in our society. It is safe to say that I will never look at a Picasso painting the same way again, or in that case any art. She opened my eyes to so many things about culture, depression, womanhood, and made me realize the potential power stand-up comedy has as a medium for change. Life isn't always funny, sometimes we have to be serious and I think that same should go for stand-up.

Disability and Discomfort: A Series of Questions

Martin O'Brien - If It Were The Apocalypse I'd Eat You To Stay Alive, A recording.
Why do we have such a difficult relationship with pain?
What is the language of pain?
How can the control of pain over the body engender self-ownership?
Why are we afraid of illness?
Can the disgusting become beautiful?

Hannah Gadsby - Nanette @ Soho Theatre
Why is comedy often about self-deprecation?
What are the consequences of humiliating yourself for the sake of comedy?
Is stand up rich enough for a range of emotions?
Why is it strange for a woman to get angry on stage?
Where are all of the good stories?
Do we really care about victims of sexual assault?
How do we get out of this patriarchal society?
Why is comedy insufficient?


Candoco Dance Company - Double Bill @ Sadler's Wells
Is it problematic to have disabled dancers alongside non-disabled dancers in a performance?
Is contemporary dance for all body kinds?
How does movement tell a story?
What happens when you have half a dance show without dialogue and the second half with speech?
What is the language of dance? Can it be verbal?

Apocalypse Wow!

Martin O'Brien's performance art was both engrossing and just plain gross, yet I can't say that I was ever truly repulsed or disgusted by it. Unlike my fellow students that were covering their eyes and vocally making their levels of discomfort known as they witnessed O'Brien's sadomasochistic behavior, I sat at the back of the lecture room eating an apple, noticeably unfazed about what was happening on the screen in front of me. It's not that I am desensitized to acts of gore and violence, but rather I understood that O'Brien derived a twisted sort of pleasure and fulfillment from what he was doing to himself on stage. If I was made to watch somebody being unwillingly put through that level of pain and torture my reaction would have been very different. Ultimately, I found O'Brien's performance to be a very fitting metaphor for the disease he is living with and found his way of coping with his pain beguiling. He is truly inspiring and the high levels of pain he puts himself through during his performance just go to show the strength and resilience inside of him.

Drugs, Sex, and more Drugs

As soon as Katy Baird opened her mouth to commence her performance, her robe opened with it. Baird really didn't hold back and as a result was intimately open about her body, her insane drug use, her depression, and her sexuality. Although the show was still in development and was a bit all over the place, I found each shared experience and memory independently interesting of one another. I especially liked her insights into the struggle of living up to female conventions of beauty. It seemed that when she dressed like a man her self-esteem wasn't as fragile in regards to her looks, but as soon as she made the switch back to dresses and heels she had to carry all the shit that comes with it. All in all, I learned a lot about the inescapable rabbit hole that drug use can be and felt a lot better about my odds of never doing hard drugs after watching Baird's painfully honest testimony.

Katy Baird @ The Yard

If a performance starts with the creator's self filmed experience of a 'Ket sesh', then it's pretty obvious that only the truth will be told, and all of it. Katy's Baird's in development performance of Unreal was  a no frills, honest, sometimes dodgy chat on why she takes drugs and her experience on life so far.

We were firstly split off as audience members, into different sections of the auditorium depending on the year we were born. This categorised us into generations - I am apparently 'Generation Y' - and described our general characteristics. Baird wanted to get to know us before she spilled the beans about herself. Armed with a computer presentation, her Ketamine session videos and nipple tassles, Katy Baird told us stories of where she grew up, where she moved to, her sexuality and most importantly her drugs. The drug stories were funny; the way she told them were hilarious, and I felt comfortable to listen and laugh because she talked to us in such an informal way. But I soon realised there was darkness underneath all the laughs. A particular video of Baird on a three day drug bender over Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day made me feel strange. Where were her family and friends? She seemed so lonely, addressing 'us' to the camera and not addressing people in her life.

Any Indecent Exposure? - Katy was possibly swaying too much towards advertising drugs as a good thing to do. Especially the amount she takes. However, an honest performance from a LGBTQ+ artist and her struggles with life is an important story to share.

Indecent Exposure at Now 18

I am not turned off or frightened by nudity. I feel very comfortable with the human body and all it has to offer (as one would hope from a pre-medical student). Katy Baird's nudity was unexpected and enthralling as she descended to the audience and proceeded to strip, but I was by no means blown away by the shock value of the female figure. The greatest scandal in my opinion was her reliance on drugs and drug paraphernalia for the creation of her work. The artist not only chose to detail her experience with addiction, but also formulate an entire live art piece via personal sentiments, videos, and the like, related to her battle. While it was evident that the artist took the time to accumulate the pieces to put on a show, the performance itself felt like just that: pieces fragmented together to form a semi-coherent monologue with audio-visual aid.

I suppose this may come across as insensitive to substance abuse, and by no means is that so. It seems fitting that perhaps this part of the double bill could fall under the category of disability, similar to the performance following. However, from my educational background, that would be insensitive and incorrect. Of course one's own suffering is a completely subjective experience and should not be categorized by any one person, but in my opinion classifying an addiction (especially an addiction so sever as Baird's) as a disability is wrong. The term disability implies the absence of ability--almost to say that once an addict, always an addict. It goes without saying that even a recovered addict must be vigilant as to not relapse, but to put all those who suffer from addiction under the umbrella of disability sets the current addict up to fail.

Diversion aside, I felt that Baird's piece seemed aimless in a way. While certainly entertaining, I didn't gain all that much from the performance itself. If she were to build upon this piece, I would suggest that Baird add in more direction to guide her confessional. I found this piece surprisingly underwhelming for the severity of the content being described.

Naked at Now 18 - Katy Baird at The Yard Theatre

There's not many times when I feel like I can come away from a performance having learned a new skill, but I think Katy Baird's performance may have taught me how to look at nakedness.  The premiere of her project "Unreal" at the Now 18 festival on Thursday February 1st involved a semi-nude recounting of her 40 years of life, littered with stories about her many experiences with drugs and reconsiderations of her relationship with her sexuality.  Unfortunately, due to the fairly standard confessional format, the realizations and recollections blended together in a potentially non-drug-induced haze; some technical difficulties in the multi media format drew more attention than the flow of her stories, which appeared haphazard and ultimately not compelling.

The biggest twist for me, someone unexperienced with burlesque or performative nudity, was her nonchalant donning of five nipple tassels (which I had whisperingly identified as such while they sat on the table before the show began and yet was still surprised by the sudden shedding of clothes) and the subsequence movement of her body through the space, fascinating because of the infrequency of causal nudity in everyday life yet treated as something completely comfortable.  While I found myself disappointed in the quality of the experience compared to previous shows at Now 18,  I found it to be a personally impactful choice that made me reconsider what it meant to be intimate and exposed in certain elements of performance and not others.

Broken Bodies: Now 18! @ The Yard w/ Kaity Baird and Katherine Araniello

. Kaity Baird began with a video of her on Ketamine. She was in the audience when it started, then moved down to the front where she undressed to her pants and put on some nipple tassles, a playboy headband and a glove. She was completely nonplussed despite her kind of body being a rather rare sight for the average media consumer. She went on to explain to the audience why we had been seated in particular groups - she wanted to see the age demographics at a glance and proceeded to tell us what singled out the individual groups of generations. My generation are a snacking generation, we are into Vlogging and we're more environmentally aware than any other age group. That was the part about us. Then we were redirected back to the Ketamine and were told about Kaity's drug history. She talked like she was discussing her diet. 'I quite liked this... I consider myself a bit of an alchemist... I had a bit of that... I stopped having this... my true love is K... '. There was a particular 'Tri-?'concoction of speed, MD and cocaine (I think) that stood out. The immorality of it made me quite disorientated.The videos of her at home taking Ket were numerous. It was funny watching her, face relaxed, singing along to songs, eyes closed. It was an interesting choice having her drug experience over lay her whole explanation of her intention behind the performance and the drug history. It felt extremely casual. Made the drugs sound fun... but then she said that this performance was the result of some kind of midlife crisis. That when she looked back on her life all she really saw was drugs and she was thinking about what to do next. She also showed us the period during which her ideas for creating the piece were evolving. She claimed to have got some inspiration from taking Ketamine while in India over the holiday period - she showed us videos of this which painfully revealed it was a bit of a lie and she couldn't even finish the sentence 'I've been thinking..' she was so off her face. As I sat there I felt myself viewing as one of my family members - for a few minutes thinking 'what kind of message is this giving off? She shouldn't be in a theatre, she should be in some kind of rehab'. But she was so comfortable and that meant that I was so comfortable. And her Scottish tinted voice spoke with such warmth and certainty that it did feel like she had created something important even though the only material in the whole piece came from personal videos, photographs and Facebook. She talked of her mental health deteriorating after her second make over.  She was trying to work out who she was not apart from or despite the drugs but with them. And that left me with some hope. Though I didn't see any sign of her going drug or alcohol free any time soon. 

The second show of the night made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted to enjoy it. When Katherine looked up at me I smiled back into her expressive eyes. I did. But underneath I was confused. I was able to understand the humorous videos that were made with Daniel Oliver. I was able to understand the sketch with the external arms manipulating the boring story that Katherine was telling about washing a van. I was able to sing along to the distorted kids song that satirised popular story book characters. But I wasn't able to feel comfortable because... I am able. Katherine is primarily a performance artist. One thing that inspires her work is the fact that she is wheel chair bound. In this case the work was ruthlessly frigid and raw about disability. It felt startlingly important. I think the reason I was so repelled by it is because I'm used to live art at least being a conversation and in this case I was muted by my ignorance and shock at not being prompted to feel pity like we normally do. It's made me realise I am too cautious about my views on disabled theatre and that the strength, force and fire I witnessed from Katherine shouldn't surprised me.

 I called this blog Broken Bodies because I could see the performers naming  a performance something like that. It was also an evening of delving into the new and taboo and, intellectually, I feel like I fell apart.

Brotherhood

I didn't really know what I was walking into last Thursday night. The only thing I knew about the show is that it was from the same guy who wrote Moonlight (especially since people never forgot to mention this fact when referring to it), and having only seen snippets of the film in a previous screenwriting class I can't say that I was well versed with his work. However, I wasn't expecting anything less than amazing from an Oscar winning writer. I am glad to say that I was blown away by the utter complexity of the show, it managed to be simultaneously comedic yet heartbreaking, real yet abstract, poetic yet colloquial. The characters were so well cast and the acting itself was out of this world. Every movement and change in voice the actors made helped paint a whole distinct world within the line of the white chalk circle. I was truly transported to my home state of south Florida and got to intimately see a whole new human experience through this beautiful Theatrical production.

The Brothers Size @ The Young Vic

Nestled into the Young Vic’s in-the-round theatre, I felt cradled in The Brothers Size’s tender and loving portrayal of a fraternal relationship.  After a stint in prison, younger brother Oshoosi tries to adapt back into his normal life. He wiles away his time sleeping, hanging out with former cell-mate Alegba and being watched by his protective older brother Ogun. Too often we see the same stereotype of the African American man: a macho, aggressive, drug dealer who speaks in drawls and only knows a life of crime. However, Tarell Alvin McCraney (writer of the beautiful, Oscar winning Moonlight) subverts these stereotypes into three men who love each other in different ways. His poetic language reveals Oshoosi as goofy and vulnerable, Ogun as gentle but stern and protective, and Alegba as sly and manipulative.

The performance blended traditional theatre with physical theatre, dance, song and poetry, all performed in a chalk circle dusted with red powder that seemed to radiate heat from a southern state sun. The chemistry and mastery of acting from the three actors was the highlight of the performance. They were so in sync with each other and with the rhythm of the music. Nowhere was this clearer than in Ogun and Oshoosi’s joyous rendition of Try a Little Tenderness -  a scene so blissful that it made me want to jump up and sing along with them. I didn’t, but my foot was definitely tapping along in appreciation.

Any Indecent Exposure? – Although a black female perspective of racial incarceration in southern USA may have provided exposure for a more marginalised group of people, the complete lack of black male stereotypes, and the beautiful relationships made this performance a worthy one to watch.

The Brothers Size - A Folk Tale

As soon as they cast the red dust, I was into it.  Even more when I realized there would be only three actors.  And once Oshoosi and Ogun began singing together, I was in love.  The show, perfectly paced, hit a number of beats that engaged the audience further and further, retracing their movements and emotions just as Ogun retraced his pantomime of getting out from under the car over and over again.  The spare set let the relationships shine and made every movement, every line significant in this intimate retelling of the way two black brothers encounter America.  The dreams, the slow revelation, the folk tale name - it incorporated everything old that is new again (elements of traditional storytelling and folk tales) as well as the ever-present issue of police discrimination against black men and the complexity of a sibling relationship.

I don't think I'll ever forget the scene of the brother singing, completing the trajectory of pure vulnerability just before they are torn apart (potentially forever).  The arc and pacing of the show revealed just enough for us to be engaged and in love and afraid for them that the pay off of the scene engrossed us all, potentially the only time I stopped thinking of myself and others as conscious audience members and became immersed.  Overall,  The Brothers Size is an immersive emotional experience that used movement and minimalism to great effect.

Brothers Size, Sized Up

I arrived at The Young Vic three minutes past 7:30, out of breath. As I approached the doors to the venue, myself and the people I was with were greeted by a terse woman, a bit harshly informing us that we were late and would have to wait a few minutes to be admitted. Two minutes later, we were scurried in and escorted to our seats, far from the stage. I took in the arena-type theater and prepared for...I didn't know what. This appears to be a recurring theme in my theatrical excursions. The show began rather dramatically with the throwing of red-colored powder as a man drew a giant white circle out of chalk and two others danced around him. Interesting...and I'm still sweating from the change from cold to warm. Once I got over a bit of a language barrier, I began to catch on to the plot. The main character, Oshoosi, is fresh out of prison and apparently still trying to get "back on his feet" (literally and metaphorically). At the beginning of the play, I found myself cringing at every vulgar term and the colloquial use of the infamous "N-word." However, 20 minutes in (or so I'm assuming as I was so enthralled time was not actively considered), the harsh language became commonplace. I'm no longer sweating and am comfortable in my bench seat. While there is much to say about the plot, the theatricality, the acting, the singing, the dancing,  etc., what stuck with me most was the atmosphere, accompanied by the reactions of the fellow theater-goers. The quiet gasps, "oohs," "ahhs," and every noise in between actually added to my experience! The final scene ended with Ogun's narration that the play had come to an end, and I was struck. Directly following however, was the abrupt exclamation of an "wow" from an audience member sitting behind me. Chills crawl across my arms and legs and I found myself devoid of all words except for an echoing "wow" myself. I'd pay that twenty pounds many times over to see Brothers Size again. My experience at the Young Vic was breath-taking.

The Brothers Size at The Young Vic

A stage surrounded by tiered seating in the round. We're looking down at the deep pit where, like the matador and the bull, the love between two brothers and the friendship between two inmates will fight until one has won and one has lost. We begin with the fluid movements of three bodies that produce the striking image of a white chalk circle with two thin flashes of red power across the diameter. We learn that Oshoosi has just got out of prison and his responsible older brother, Ogun Size, who owns a car repair shop is looking after him. They squabble and get angry at each other. Elega, a friend who was younger Size's inmate is introduced as a potential trouble maker or good friend. Time passes and the friend appears more and more mysterious. We hear of a sheriff in the town who has something against Oshoosi and his friend. Then younger Size gets found with drugs in his car when in fact they are the inmate's. The two brothers have a strongly emotional argument about how the cops got involved. The following evening they share a singsong and a dance of innocent brotherly joy and in the morning Ogun helps Oshoosi escape with hopes that he will travel the world. On an analytic level there is tension between the brothers over the younger brothers laziness (later revealed as tiredness) and the older brothers parental role that became a little overbearing. The climax comes when the police are once again on the tail of the younger brother and the conclusion ends with the sad yet slightly hopeful resolution of escape. But from my own emotional level it was deeply rich with energy, humour and grit. The choice to stage it in a way that maximised the power of the suspension of disbelief - with no props, no costume changes and with stage directions spoken aloud not only highlighted the actors' talent and allowed the voice of the playwright to be heightened but made every action clear, defined, raw. The focus was on the movement of the bodies that transitioned between scenes with the skill of dancers, the work of art that effortlessly evolved on the floor as the play went on and the expressive musicality of the voices and percussionist. The play spoke to me about a sibling's capacity to love and the eventual insignificance of mistakes and bad decisions. I got quite annoyed at a woman behind me who kept on commenting aloud on moments - 'oh, okay' - because that space and our attention and that silence was for the play only. I didn't want the beauty tainted by someone who had not been involved with its exquisite craft.

THE COMFORTER at The Yard

The Comforter: not a particularly comforting performance, until the last few minutes when I finally sort of understood what the performance was getting at. As part of a trilogy of performances on faith, The Comforter represents Stacey Makishi’s feelings on The Holy Ghost. Alone on stage, Makishi poured her heart out. We heard stories of loss, love, connection and disconnection. We heard Makishi’s opinion that she doesn’t deserve love and that we should ‘choose death’, not life. Like I said, not very comforting. We also saw her sing along to some George Michael songs. There was a clip from Dumbo. There were breathing exercises. There was a suitcase that she was stuffed into. There was a tub of Vaseline, which was prodded by an audience member, which was then prodded into various other audience members’ crevices. All her talk of connection made me wonder where the connection was in her performance. All these elements didn’t seem to match up. Until one silent moment, where Stacey stuffed the duvet, the love she felt she didn’t deserve, under her shirt. She desperately held it close to her body, and we watched silently at her struggle. That simple action clicked for me, and I could have happily watched it for much longer.

Makishi’s performance lived up to its name in the end, with an uplifting message: ‘We’re all worthy of love.’ I just don’t see what that has to do with The Holy Ghost. Or George Michael. Or a Vaseline soaked finger being poked between different ‘holes’.

Any Indecent Exposure?                   Makishi mentioned her queer identity in passing. Love is the same whatever your sexual orientation, and that was refreshing to see.