Dear Pink Couch, and the Space Behind (you)

3 Way and I are lounging, in a lounge, on couches, chatting about Out Of Order, your latest theatrical shenanigan.  Now we know it’s been a while since we’ve reviewed anything, (for that we have our reasons), which is also not to say that we haven’t been to see anything.  Oh how much we’ve seen! Huddled in the dark of the theatre, quietly munching on pocket-sized shortbread  and sipping jolly juice from sock-flasks.  We are nigher than you thinks! (“nigher” is too funny not to be a word.)     Anyway… 3 Way suggested that we write you a letter.  I thought it might be strange to write a letter to a piece of furniture.  3 Way noted that nothing is strange for us.  Hence, the letter. [dun dun duuuuuun]

So. How are you?

What’s it like being a couch? Does the other furniture tease you for being pink?  I bet you must have had some interesting people sit on you. Or even sleep on you.  Also, what part of you is your face?

Hmmm.  Those were some nice questions.

Now for some observations.  This new show Out Of Order was rather funny, which is good considering it’s a comedy.  James McGregor and Gabriel Marchand made a nice couple.  Their comic timing is tight and they have a chemistry on stage that is well suited for the characters they play.  The text is sharp, well written and uncluttered- squeaky clean, like Mr. Min riding on a dolphin.  This was offset by the griity, harsh soundtrack (at times in need of some level modulation) and of course the situational context.  Two oaks on opposite sides of the Boer War (which one again?) making friends, escaping onslaught after onslaught sometimes and even tripping the light fantasties met die morphine squishy.  Fokken hectic.

Another kief thing was the way in which the whole gemors came together stylistically.  It’s like the story got to tell itself in different ways, through illustration, live dialogue, sound, action and brandy.  The switching between modes was fluid and well directed and kept the pace up and the audience interested.  (though I couldn’t see much of what the illustrations were, since they were a little too little.)

While some people were grumbling about stereotypes in the Intimate Theatre foyer afterwards, I was celebrating them.  The piece wouldn’t have worked if Belknap had written deeply complex, emotionally rich characters from a mixed socio-political background, with BA’s in anthropology or classics or some other kak.  Or maybe it would. But who cares? We’re not gonna review a play that “should have been.”

Ok Couch, and Space Behind… Thanks for the new work, and keep writing. Or typing. Or whatever.

Actually… how the fuck does a couch type anyway?  (3 Way is now telling me that  you’re an anthropomorphized couch, so you can do whatever the fuck you want.)

Hmm. Have you ever been swimming?

Peace and Hippies,

The Ponyroachers.

PS:  In case you ever get lonely:  looky looky space behind pink couchy couchy

and it gets 2 and a half Tsars. and a half-koeksister.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

Out Of Order runs at the Itimate Theatre,
Friday, 25 November 2011 until Saturday 03 December. 8PM.

Written and directed by Beren Belknap
Designed, constructed and animated by The Space Behind The Couch
Sound design by Gideon Lombard
Starring James MacGregor and Gabriel Marchand
Produced by The Pink Couch

To book, call 072 367 6878 or email thepinkcouch@gmail.com

This is what I know about puppets:

Kami is an HIV+ Muppet on Takalani Sesame.

Kermit is banging Ms Piggy, but no one actually knows if they are married or not.

Sarel en Minna is kwaai en Wielie Walie had a bunch of trippy singing socks (hallo…!)

Punch and Judy is not only the title track of an album by the fabulous Tigerlilies, but also a couple of old school puppets who regularly get into domestics. (Santa se ma se poes)

Jeff Dunham and Peanut once made me laugh so much I actually weed in my pants but carried on laughing anyway.

And a blow up Pamela Anderson Baywatch love-puppet costs around R299.

So when 3Way called with the option for some legitimate WABing and told me we were going to a “puppet show,” I had to take a moment.  Standing there in my studypants, clutching my second cup of Jolly Juice, I weighed it up, – all of the above listed points vs. jamming as much info on Watson & Crick down my brainthroat as possible so I can pen-vomit it into a blue feint-lined booklet for someone else to judge with a little red pen… Ja.  The puppets won.  What it also meant though, was that I so totally wasn’t expecting what I got.  No bewigged piggy, no singing socks and no PVC burn on my tinkie, just a trippy marinated theatre experience that was weird and dreamlike.

So after a terrifying ride to the Baxter (3Way just got a motorbike) and a satisfying game of Spot the Errors in the Programme, the lights went hush and a flipping giant shadow-art-snake silhouette-thingy uncoiled on the cyclorama.  Some beige people hovered onto stage and the next thing you know, I’m totally absorbed.  Which hardly ever happens. (except for that one time a Bless Bridges impersonator gave me a rose at an impromptu concert at a Pool bar in Pretoria.  We danced. It was memorable.)

Now, to write about the “puppets” doesn’t seem like enough, because they are full-on people.  But not alive. But if feels like they are.  The primary characters (2 of 16 puppets) are about 2 thirds the size of real people and they move in ways that confound the little man with the stick who lives inside your brain and says “this is not real you bladdy idiot.”  And they don’t just “move”, – they dance, float, walk, run, jump and even get jiggy.  Although the puppeteers are visible onstage, their presence is never an intrusion or a detraction from the magic that they so expertly weave.

The setting of the piece is a domestic one, (tea, beds, desks, cupboards) but by no means everydayish. On the contrary, Ouroboros is an evocative exploration, a tantalizing visual journey through a soulscape of memory, presence and desire that will leave you with a wonderfully serious case of what-the-fuck.

But a warning: If you do go, (which we think you should) remember to take your Dimension Goggles and set ‘em to transtemporal, or kookybalookytimewarpy mode– or even just go without the goggles, especially if the idea of past, present and future aspects of self existing in a common space-time continuum is something that tweaks your neuro-nipples.  What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that the narrative structure is non-linear, and more… spirally. Yes, spirally-narrative-structure with overlapping bits. Like a quilt! A spirally-quilted-narrative structure.  But fear not! Reading the programme will help, especially if you’re the type who lives on a steady entertainment diet of sitcoms and sopies.  Which is not to say that there isn’t a story.  Because there is.

In a bombshell, Ouroboros is essentially about an interracial love affair between a poet and a dancer, about the nature of death and the power of love to transform the living.  I can’t believe I actually just typed that.  Usually that kind of thing is enough to induce a violent spontaneous bowel movement. But thank Dionysus, the play works well, and how could it not, with the likes of Basil Jones and Adrian Kohler of the multi-award-winning Handspring Puppet Company on board? (check out their awesome TED talk here)

There’s also a recurring text titled Aristotle by Billy Collins (Poet-Laureate etc etc) done in a husky voiceover by every phrenophiliac’s fantasy, Guy De Lancey, avec music by Neo Muyanga (sexily Tim Burtonesque at times). Animalations by Michael Clarke added an interesting dimension,  at times suggesting a location, at others revealing the thoughts of the puppet characters, commenting on the action or encapsulating aspects of  Aristotle. (included in the programme)

The piece is filled with archetypal, totemic imagery and notions of the unconscious abound like little bunny rabbits.  I really liked the puppeteers sitting under the bed whenever the puppets slept, creating a sense that the life-force of the puppet had become submerged or was operating beneath the puppet in the unconscious realm.  Deep.  Which is also the effect the show has.  I came out of the theatre and looked at 3Way, who looked back with bleary eyes and said “imagine if all thoughts were animals…” Ja. “Spacey”, “hypnotic” and “meditative” are words I would use to describe Ouroboros.

And about the title… I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t have any idea either.  But the nice people at Wikipedia have.  Apparently it’s a snake up its own arse, but with mythicosmic implications.

Some final words of caution:  Ouroboros is not for children under 10 and if you’re asthmatic don’t sit in the front row. (a stinky thing briefly ontplofs).  If you’re going to hang out at the swanky new Baxter Playbar after, be advised that prices are, um, “varied” and there ‘aint no signage, so ask what something costs before you swipe. (a little apple juice is R16 and a glass of rather average red is R20.)  Best to take a hip flask, I say.

I give it 4 Tsars.

(3Way is drunk on the balcony as I write, “looking for fish in the sky”… he may comment later)

Stuff you might need to maybe know, possibly:

At: The Baxter Theatre

From: 1-11 June

Tickets at Computicket or the Baxter

Director: Janni Younge, with Basil Jones and Adrian Kohler of the Handspring Puppet Company. Puppeteers: Cindy Mkaza, Chuma Sopotela, Tali Cervati, Beren Belknap, Jason Potgieter, Gabriel Marchand.  Shadow manipulator: Nieke Lombard.  Music:  Neo Muyanga.  Lighting: Mannie Manim. Choreography: Mamela Nyamsa.  Sound Design:  Daniel Eppel.  Animation: Michael Clarke.

Fuck it. Stal forgot me at the fucking theatre. I was doing lines in the girl’s bathroom [Okay I was crying. Like a little girl. In the girl’s bathroom] and when I came out he was gone. Fuck it. Stupid beautiful play made me cry. Stupid little puppet. Stupid little actors. Stupid FUCKING AWESOME sound design (stupid Brydon Bolton and stupid James Webb). And of course stupid damn Rob ‘Ugly Bob’ Murray with his stupidly great, detailed, dark flair for stupidly cool direction.

I waited for two hours. I had to take a taxi home. And the driver smelled like peanuts. And I had my blackbelt exam in the morning. Fuck. It was worth it.

Go and see this play. Now. Or you’re a stupid doos.

And yes, I also give it 4 stupid Tsars.

See Stal’s stupid review for info.

The woooooooooomb.  Cowabunga. Surf’s up!  The tide is coming in.  The swell is good.  Catch a wave into the woooooooooooooooomb.  Bizzaro bizzaro!  I had root canal this afternoon and went to see Womb Tide at the Baxter Golden Arrow Studio after.  Now I’m home watching Stringfellow Hawke catch some waves of his own in some 70’s flick and I’m thinking about the title of the play and trying to type this review…

…Where did I put 3 Way?

Anyway, they gave me some shiny tablets for the pain and the dentist lady said take 1 tablet 3 times daily, or 3 tablets once daily, but hey they were so small and colourful so I took 3 and then I saw Womb Tide and weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

They have a swing! A SWING I tell you.  (Womb Tide.  Not the dentist.*)  And they swing on it. With real people.  Or not so real people.   Also, it’s a metaphor, and the best one of it’s particular variety I’ve seen in a long time.

As for the performances… The actor  playing the kid was brilliant. There was this total other-worldly feel about him, seeming at times to float across the stage, and always closely followed by 2 furniture-removal guys (Starke & Kerfoot) who gave me the heebyjeebies.

Daniel Buckland and Liezl de Kock were special.  They tell the whole story with their bodies, not like charades or mime or chest-thumping pseudo-contemporary kak, but with character and power and comedy and detailed attention.  Like a pair of dancing bears telling bees where to get honey.  You dig?  They make magic magic magic magic mooooooooooooves.  And these tablets make me use too many vowels.  (which is funny, because the company that made Womb Tide is called FTH:K.  No vowels.   See? Fuh-neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!)

At one point I felt like I was having a flashback to my childhood.  The design.  Craig Leo made it go boom.  It was linoleum vibes and kidney shaped tables and orange and brown spotty combos and the set was sexy like yo mamma.

And oh what glorious synesthesia!  The only thing I found difficult was having to dodge the stones they kept throwing at me.  And when things got Old, I tried not to cry.  But I did. But only a little.  Though that could have been the G&T’s.

Look, this may be the stripy green and red capsules talking, but I loved it.  I’m not even going to tell you what the play is about, ok?  See it with a lover, or your parents, or your children or take your dentist even.

Shit. I left 3 Way at the theatre.

* If you are reading this and happen to be a dentist: Why not get a swing instead of the scary space electric chair?

Tsars: 4 of them. On surf-boards. Right on.

Contra-indications:

Venue: Baxter Golden Arrow Studio

Dates: 10 November – 4 December

Written by: Lara Foot, and developed in collaboration with Leila Henriques, Brian Webber, and Joss Levine
Directed by: Rob Murray
Lighting Design: Rob Murray
Cast: Liezl de Kock, Emilie Starke, Daniel Buckland and Kim Kerfoot
Set Designer: Craig Leo
Props by Craig Leo and Emilie Starke
Puppet design by Craig Leo
Costumes by Leila Anderson
Puppet by Cristina Salvoldi
Sound design by James Webb and Brydon Bolton

We’re on to something.  A mystery. We spy.  We spy on them and we ask ourselves, “What do they do in those secret classes before the show on a Monday?” Probably chanting ancient mantras and doing secret handshakes, that’s what.  Once we even saw a guy in a hat. And I think I smelled incense. The kind you get at a Chinese shop for R6. That can only mean one thing… TheatreSports.

We watch them, we watch the TheatreSports and we think, how the fuck to write a review on a show that is always different? And before you go “well, aah, but…” we know that every single show of every single other play is never exactly the same (oh, the joys of theatre dahling), but not like this.  This is always very different. But the same. But different. But the same.  Red pill, blue pill, red pill, blue pill…

And then recently, one night, after watching TheatreSports, in a moment of spaghetti-haired madness, (I was cooking, since Stal can only make it if it comes in a box, and this pasta happened to come out of a packet)… it hit me! We would improvise a review, following similar methods to those outlined by the MC at the beginning of the show.

So here we are.  In Stal’s kitchen with a dictaphone and a fresh box of whatever wine was cheapest this morning, about to take suggestions from ourselves, since we are our own audience (unless we count Stal’s porcelain Doll collection.  Which we don’t. Because there are a lot of them and it would waste time.)

We call this game: Random Scenes about TheatreSports with Accents and Kitchen Utensils which you can’t see because this is a written account of the thing.

You’ll know it is time to change the scene when you see the squiggly thing like this:

~

Here we go in 5, 4, 3.. etc etc.

[Stal, talking into an egg-whisk with a cup at his ear, old-school telephone style]

Run Delilah, run! Pack your shit and go! I’ll meet you in Moscow. They’re on to us. There’s no time to lose.  They’ve made a monster and they want us dead.  How in God’s name did they do it? To have created this hybrid of theatre and sports is against nature! Against the will of God! Run, I tell you… please…

~

[3 Way, with the shopping-list pencil and a cookery book]

Dear Diary, last night I went to TheatreSports.  It was at the Intimate Theatre. I think ‘intimate’ is a euphemism for ‘small,’ but not ‘little’, – that’s a euphemism for bigger than ‘intimate’. About 140 seats bigger. And it was a Monday.  I feel sad on Mondays, but TheatreSports made me happy, because I laughed. Oh Diary, how I long to be held and improvised on by Brett Anderson, Kim Kerfoot and Jon Keevy.  They do give me a funny feeling in my tummy- I can’t wait for next Monday when I’ll be able to ask Ryan Ross Jales where he gets his hair done. That’s all for now. Xxx.

~

[Stal, wineglass in hand, gently stroking his amply stuffed dishcloth-bosom]

…and so then I said, “Ladies, for our next book club outing I would like to propose TheatreSports,” and Lorna, the bitch, she said “why?” and so I said ‘because it’s hilarious, just like that Whose Line is it Anyway’ and so then she said “so it’s all made up?” and I said yah, like your sex life. Ha-ha! And she nearly died right there and then because the other ladies laughed and laughed.

~

[3 Way, pressing buttons randomly on the microwave, presumably for beeping effect]

Captain’s log, Stardate 2097.  We have discovered a cultural document from First Earth, in the Old Milky Way Galaxy, circa CE 2010. It describes a dramatic ritual of great socio-political significance… Arg! We’re being attacked! There’s a breach in the hull, it’s a…

[Stal, leaping across the prep counter with colander over face and icing gun in hand]

Sgbdffuueretusdifhh kooknus saioriaqopripopfkfnskl!  Fdkffihf iotu sdgshdgy soornapolro rooplytogareth… SlooouuinaaarrrrtAsssssssssss.  Ooooorrttttaaagghoolleee!

(Translation: These idiot humans! Some centuries ago I witnessed the event of which they speak… TheatreSports. That was some funny shit!)

~

[3 Way, in tinfoil pigtails]

My dad says that TheatreSports is fun and it’s not age restricted which means it’s also for children and, and, and also, he says that Candice D’Arcy is a milk. But she doesn’t look anything like milk. Maybe it’s because she’s pale. Mom says Dad must learn to shut his mouth. Also what I like is that you get to shout out answers for things for the actors to do, like … “on the moon” or “Western” or “Science Friction” or “you’re a pet psychomegist” just like my dad.  I’m glad Candice isn’t a milk because also I’m black toes intomatomint.

~

[Stal, suddenly undressed and wearing only an apron, brandishing a spatula-wand]

When you wish upon a Tsar… or three and a half… lalalah…

The Score:

TheatreSports, brought to you by ImproGuise

Every Monday night at the Intimate Theatre

8:30pm

Tickets cost R40, R30 for students

and Every Tuesday night at the Kalk Bay Theatre

8:30pm

Tickets cost R50

With: Andrew Kerr, Anne Hirsch, Brett Anderson, Candice D’Arcy, Heather Mac, Jon Keevy, Keith Just, Kim Kerfoot, Leon Clingman, Lisa Greenstein, Monika Roese, Ryan Jales, Tandi Buchan, and Yve Pelser.

And Godfrey Johnson, Sigrun Paschke and Hannelore Olivier on music.

So the play starts and I think “Oh no Amy Jephta,” (she’s the writer) “not another play about a couple. Why not write a play about turnips, or aliens with eyebrows like that terrible actor from Nip Tuck, or salmonella, or ANYTHING other than couples and their trials.”  But then I got into it.  Damage Control is surreptitious like that.  Suddenly I was enjoying myself.  And liking the script.  Though how to describe it?

It’s sort of Pinter-esque.  You know, a domestic situation, an everyday setting with everyday people, but skewed, to a certain extent, very fuckin’ skewd.  One might even say squiff.  (trust me, “squiff” is a word. It’s that particular kind of skew that you get after a good spliff.  See? “Squiff”)  Like so often with Pinter, issues of power and the misuse of it are dominant. In Damage Control, time, domestic rhythms, sex, verbal dialogue (or the lack of it), – even  the set, – alles goes off centre.  And I’m not using “off centre” as a euphemism for “kak” here.  No no!  The play is rather good actually.

It’s about women and men, husbands and wives, or maybe just one husband and a wife, his fantasies, her fantasies, and the bedroom where those fantasies collide, often in very sexy ways.  Like when she plays pattycake-pattycake on his bum.  Eina!  Hats off (and undies too, in this case) to Jaco Nothnagel for enduring, or maybe even enjoying the pain.  He was intriguing.  Like secretly watching a nun playing games on her iPhone across from you in the doctor’s waiting room.  I also liked his shiny watch.

Lauren Steyn as the lead was confident, in control and evidently talented.  Why the flip haven’t we seen more of her?  And I’m not just saying this because she had very very very little clothing on.  I’m saying it because it’s true, and also because she sometimes had very very very little clothing on.  She also demonstrates a versatility that keeps you interested:  one moment she’s riding Jaco like that extremely hot chick from the 90′s American film version spin-off of  Nikita  (where she gets into that black Cleopatra wig and blows everyone to fucking smithereeeeeeeeens!), and the next moment she’s doing this heavily lipsticked Sarah Kane Clown number that had me falling off may chair with laughter.

Time is a sort of unseen character in the play.  It takes on substance in small moments, manifesting as, well,… whatever. And by “whatever,”  I mean, for example(s):  There’s a moment where things happen simultaneously in slow motion and in real-time; the characters are hard to place in terms of their age or in how long they’ve been together; things move forward as well as backwards through time (cryptic, I know, but just watch the thing and you‘ll see); the sound design uses contemporary music that sits in a time outside of the one suggested by the characters and the setting of the piece; and a whole bunch of other stuff that I couldn’t be bothered to explain because it’s not like I’m writing this for academic credit.  Thank Dionysus.  Basically the trans-temporal quality generated by various chronometric devices was subtly kief.  Even the lighting has been skillfully crafted (by the clever little hands of Matthew Lewis) in such a way that the time of day is difficult to make out, though the mood it creates permeates the scene for a length of time, thus suggesting that time, within the context of the play, is determined, (or at least measured against), the duration of a particular emotion experienced by either character.  And it’s pretty.

Although the play needs some more work, which in my opinion is never a bad thing to admit, since it means that the whole shebang will just get better, it’s all very nice, and I think Tara Notcutt is growing as a director.  Apart from that, she always goes just a little bit further, with extra little touches, like um, the red table cloths in the Intimate foyer.  Oh yes.  We notice these things.  We do.

On the whole, I think Damage Control is some great local Snivel Theatre. (Snivel = SNVL) and I’m looking forward to seeing it again after some development, pruning, resting, reviewing, etc etc.  So go and see it now.  Before it gets famous and you can’t book a seat for days at a time.  But be warned: it’s not for children, the prudish,  CMBA’s or people suffering from socioithiphalliphobia.

I give it a 3 Tsars.  Though half a Tsar is for Lauren Steyn in those red-hot undies.  Sjoe!

Damage Report:

Performed by Lauren Steyn and Jaco Nothnagel
Directed by Tara Louise Notcutt
Written by Amy Jephta
Lighting by Matthew Lewis
Presented by The Pink Couch

At:  Intimate Theatre
When:  8pm nightly,  28 October – 06 November 2010
Bookings on 072 367 6878 / thepinkcouch@gmail.com
Tickets: R60 adults / R45 students

Half price Tuesday – 2 tickets for 1 price on 2 November

Every now and then 3 Way and I like to don Speedos and venture over to Camps Bay for a stroll along the beach.  Inevitably it ends with me being rescued from the rip-naai currents by a guy in little red shorts while 3 Way gets pissed with a bunch of bikini models at La Med.  Then it’s a sunset dinner at a place where everyone wears  clok-clok shoes and high-ponies, followed by a bit of PTP, or “Pieter Torien Presents…” as we like to call the Theatre on the Bay.

Berlin / Wall was our latest bit of theatrical viewing there.  Or at least it should have been, since Stal and I got into a bit of post-Tequila-pre-show debate as to whether or not the slashy thing in the title was clever or just fucking dumb.  I thought it was necessary.  3 Way said it was an abomination (I think) and then he threw a R53 cocktail on the ground and buggered off in our rented limo with a strange lady from Bothasig.  I went inside and saw the play.  And heard it.

It was interesting.  Like a lecture, but funny and well-written and entertaining enough to keep me awake.

So, it’s basically a guy standing up, on-stage, in front of a giant plastic map graphic (also with a slashy thing) reading from two texts written by award winning Oscar nominated (etc etc) playwright and all-round uber-slashy himself, Sir David Hare.  The first monologue is called Berlin and it’s a kind of meditation on the Berlin Wall (or lack thereof), Post-War German guilt, clicky groups, fried pooh and the club scene.  He wrote it while working on The Reader.  The second text is titled Wall and it’s about the wall/peace fence in Gaza.

John Maythem was pretty damn slick.  He only looked at his script like 4 times.  His accents were good though the Israeli sounded Russian and every now and then he went a touch too “guess who I’m rooting for” with his intonation.  But, having said that, he did a flipping good job of finding the beautiful subtleties in the text and making them twinkle in his voice.  At one point I closed my eyes and reckoned it would have been shit-hot as a radio piece too.

The whole thing runs at almost 2 hours, but there’s an interval and it feels like one of those road-trips through a varied landscape with bendy roads so when you arrive you go “shit! Are we there already?”  Ja.  That’s how it is.  And you learn something.

It’s only on for another 9 days and it costs R125, which was definitely worth it.  However, I recommend you take your own papsak since a single glass of rather kak wine will cost you R18 at the PTP bar.

I give it / 3 / Tsars.

The Writing on the Wall…

Where: Theatre on the Bay

When: 19 – 30 October 2010

For: R125

At: 8pm

With: John Maythem, directed by Matthew Wild.

To book:  021 438 3300 or any Computicket

Stal and 3 Way Stop at dinner.  3 Way’s new apartment.  After an unsettling discussion on the BP oil spill.

3 Way:  Pass the salt.

Stal:  Get it yourself.

3 Way:  [Sighs] Don’t you wish we had a table like the one in Between You and Me?

Stal:  But then you’d be in a different time zone.

3 Way: Or like Batman.

Stal:  Huh?

3 Way:  That scene in Batman with Keaton and Eminem’s mom and the fucking long table.

Stal:  You’re right. That table was long.

3 Way: It was reminiscent of Grotowski’s Dr Faustus.

Stal:  You’re showing off.

3 Way: [To himself] Poes. Wait! maybe it was the same table. Maybe they imported part of the play from Poland. That would explain some things.

Stal:  Like the Afrikaans.

3 Way:  And the sexy dance moves.

Stal:  Yes. But, what the fuck? It was like the piece couldn’t decide if it was a ballerina or a novelist.

3 Way: Or which language it should be in.

Stal:  Oui.

3 Way:  But the bilingualism got more natural as the play went on. [Laughs in a “haha” way] Bilingualism.

Stal:  And I knew exactly where it was going. There was no tension.  It was the same shit over and over again. A couple sits down at the dinner table, they engage in some conversation and eat mime food, drink mime wine. And dance on the table. The usual. But over and over again.

3 Way:  But wasn’t that the point?

Stal:  I’m not sure what the point was. The structure of the narrative didn’t take me anywhere. It had no conclusion.

3 Way:  Like all your relationships.

Stal:  Deep.

3 Way:  [Noticing]  You’ve got fishfinger on your sleeve.

Stal:  Thanks nugget boy.

3 Way:  And you’re wrong. It did have a conclusion. It’s just,… we knew it was coming.

Stal: … On your face.

3 Way:  Huh?

Stal: [pointing with a fishfinger]  You’ve got mayonnaise on your face.

3 Way:  Thanks.

[they eat in silence for a while]

Stal:  And the Wimbledon effect pissed me off.

3 Way:  The what?

Stal:  The dangers of Theatre in Traverse.  Looking left then right then left then right. Crick in the neck.  Tiring.

3 Way:  All you had to do was cock your head and squint. Problem solved. Doos.

Stal:  But what about the other problems?

3 Way:  The music?

Stal:  Ja.  The style of music, with the content of the lyrics, juxtaposed with the action just made for a messy through-line.  But then again, I have issues with people using commercial music onstage as part of the action unless it’s well integrated.

3 Way:  You just have issues. But I agree.  Though the design and lighting was well integrated with the venue.  It’s a nice enough church hall but put a performance in there and things look very Sunday School meets Drama Society AGM.  The director handled it well.  The high roof, the wooden floors, the huge space… it was all hidden out in the open. As part of the design.  And content?

Stal:  I was reminded of Interiors.  That Amy Jephta play.

3 Way:  Hmm… Man. Woman. Table. Mime food. The breakup.  It is somewhat similar.  Young women and their thematic concerns.  Pass the wine.  [he does]

Stal:  The two performers were great.

3 Way:  What does that mean, ‘great’? That’s so generic.

Stal:  Like your cooking. [spits out an ovenbake chip] Fine. The guy, um, Jaco Nothnagel,… he was natural, he was comfortable on stage, he was compelling. And he had good presinence.

3 Way:  Presinence? Really? More wine?

Stal:  Sut up.

3 Way:  You’re drunk.

Stal:  And you’re a dendraphiliac.

3 Way:  No, actually, that’s you, remember? Wood gives you wood.

Stal:  [mutters to himself] …that table. That table. How many trees…?

3 Way:  But that Tarn De Villiers was pretty sexy [playing with his food]. And flexible. And expressive. And…

Stal:  [interrupting] Dessert?

3 Way:  Sweet.

Stal:  Yes. It is desert, afterall.

3 Way:  Two and a half Tsars.

Stal:  Two.

3 Way:  Come on! It had a bunch of problems but it’s a piece that was created for a development bursary aimed at giving experience to emerging directors. Objective achieved.  And we like that organisations like GIPCA and the Baxter and the TAAC are handing out cash to young directors.  What would it take to get that extra half Tsar?

Stal:  A clever insight.

3 Way: [thinking] Okay, I’ll give you a clever insight, but it has to stay between you and me.

Stal:  A secret?

3 Way:  Yes. Ask yourself this: What is between you and me?

Stal:  This is getting convoluted.

3 Way:  I’m okay with that.

Stal:  So what is it?

3 Way: Half a tsar.

Stal:  Deep. Again. Ok. Two and a half.

Between you and me… and everyone else:

Directed and written by:  Tara Notcutt.

Featuring:  Jaco Nothnagel, Tarn De Villiers

Lighting by:  Mathew Lewis

With extracts by Jon Keevy

Presented by: The Theatre Arts Admin Collective, GIPCA, Baxter

Went to see Highway Crossing or Tale of a Golden Fish last night at the Intimate Theatre.  The result? Insomnia.  A delicious insomnia.  But now I’m grumpy.  So I thought that before I get into this, I better check out this Jaan Tatte guy (he’s the playwright), find out who the fuck he thinks he is and maybe send him an e-mail asking for directions to his house. So I can kiss him.  And then punch him in the face. And maybe kiss him again. But this will more than likely not happen since it would terrify his wife and sons and I’m a pacifist sometimes. Also, he lives in Estonia. (Because he’s Estonian)

Anyhoo, got onto Vikipeedia  and got his info. But it came out all monkeydrool so I hit the button that says “barbarous tongue converter”, no wait I mean “translate” and I got the following:

Tuletõrjeteemalisel kirjandivõistlusel sai koolis kolmanda, rajoonis teise ja vabariigis esimese koha. Firefighting kirjandivõistlusel debate on the school received a third, the second division and the Government in the first place.

True as titties. After laughing and some consideration, I figured it in some way apt, since the play was of the Absurdist variety and it did fuck with my mind in the most beautiful of ways.  Hence me wanting to pull a kiss / punch / kiss maneuver on the Tatte.  Because that is also what the play does.

There’s the first kiss:  you walk in, sit down, look at the design and go “what the…?” The light shifts in a De Chirico way, there is the sound of a blade being sharpened and someone mutters something about a blob of jam and trousers.  This is Oswald, played to perfection by Andrew Laubscher.

A couple rocks up (Laura and Roland, played by Deborah Vieyra and Louis Viljoen) seeking shelter from the freezing cold for the night.  There’s a whole bunch of “should I stay or should I go” and then some stuff goes down.

Then the punch: an Indecent Proposal.  Much like the movie but with props that look like they’ve been done by Giorgio Morandi.

Then the second kiss:  Lehm poiss läheb. Koos pizza! (and in a rather Tarantinoesque fashion, I might add.)

As a piece of Absurdist Theatre, it checks all the boxes: the register of language is discordant with the social setting (probably emphasized by the translation); the characters are seemingly ordinary people who encounter an extra-ordinary situation; the convention of a pre-established disbelief on behalf of the audience is challenged at some point; there is a thematic exploration of human nature (in this case, expressions of Greed, Lust, Desire); the rules of logic are challenged, changed and reinstated (though Aristotle would dig it, I’m sure); existential undertones support the framework of the narrative; shit gets bizarre on you for a moment or two.

As for the performances:  Laubscher is subtle and powerful, riding the current of Oswald’s calculated mania like a red squirrel on a glass surfboard.  He is beautifully contrasted by Viljoen’s witty, speech-impeded Roland.  Viera exudes a sparkling darkness like vanilla ice-cream in the night sea or  Katherine Hepburn in a bath of Calamata olives.  Her Laura is captivating.  Jason Potgieter was fun to watch. (There was no reference to the character’s name. A programme would have been nice)

The direction was there, but not there. In a very good way.  If you’ve seen Guy de Lancey on stage before, you’ll know what I mean.  There seemed to be an incredible ease, a relaxed but intensely focused synergy between the performers.  They didn’t force themselves on the text and the text didn’t force itself on the audience.  Like a Rasta on a bicycle.  All the action was well-motivated (no extraneous kak) and the underlying “filmic” quality of the mis-en-scene (fuck French spelling) made it easy on the eye.

As for what it does to the mind… Well, it’s darkly funny and rather quirky at times.  It’ll also get you thinking though.  So be prepared: if you’re the type of person who just doesn’t “get” things, then maybe this isn’t for you.  (Rather go see Mama Mia)  If you’re the type of person who enjoys: Ionesco, Beckett, Tarantino, Sartre, James Dean, Ayn Rand, Albee, Jaan Kaplinski, girls in undies, fishing, Grimm’s Fairytales, pizza, Matisse’s Green Stripe (for the chromatic division in the lighting), or bungee jumping, – then I say don’t look a gift-fish in the gills, –  you absolutely must go see this thing.

3 and a half Tsars.

Presented by:  The Mechanicals

Directed by: Guy de Lancey

With: Andrew Laubscher, Deborah Vieyra, Louis Viljoen, Jason Potgieter.

At:  The Intimate Theatre

For: R100 a ticket.

When:  21, 22 (3pm), 25, 27, 28 (3pm), 29 (3pm) August.

Bookings:  0214807129

So I’ve just seen Karoo Moose at the Baxter Sanlam Studio and am now procuring a little sustenance and some beverage around the corner from the theatre.  There is a cat sitting next to me at my table.  In the restaurant. Fucking weird.  Anyway, I’m thinking about what I’ve just experienced at the theatre, and I realize something about myself.

I’m not a stander.

I don’t just stand up because everyone else does.  For me, a standing ovation is a spontaneous thing.  It’s like when your team scores  and you’re compelled to leap to your feet. (yes, a sports reference, I know, but they’ve got Lacrosse on the telly here) You just do it.  Because of the joy or happiness or whatever it is.  That feeling that pushes you up out of your chair, that’s what makes it a bloody standing ovation.  Not the “oh shit some people near me are standing, so maybe I should and the actors can see me and they’ll think I’m a prat if I don’t…” feeling.  That’s just bullshit audience politics. (Yes. Politics. It’s fucking everywhere)

But Karoo Moose got me onto my feet.  It was like, bang! And suddenly I was standing.  I couldn’t help myself.  The show is that good.

The story is magical, in both the “what” and the “how.”  It’s not a story that just unfolds.   More like, it unfurls, looks you in the eye and invites you to dance beneath a full moon,  under doring-boome, over koppies, into cooking pots and through conversations.  It arrives in the guise of a Moose and leaves as something else. And it quite obviously inspires metaphors.

What really got me going was the way in which the story was told.  The physical and visual blended lekker.  By the end of it, you’re not sure if you’ve actually seen a Moose, or just heard about it, or maybe even from it.  From the Moose’s mouth so to speak.  On the whole, Karoo Moose doesn’t have any kak for me to moan about.  Apart from some of the vocal articulation being a bit sloppy.  And there was an issue with some of the audience not being able to see action happening on the floor in the front, but I’m now on my second cup of Jolly-Juice so I’m feeling forgiving.

Seriously, it’s a talented cast doing a well written script in a beautifully designed space with powerful music, live song and a story that takes you somewhere else.  The content is a bit heavy, so I wouldn’t take the young’ns.

How can I tell you about it without ruining it?  It’s a story about a girl who meets a Moose in the middle of the Karoo, fights some baddies and deals with some internal politics.  Just go and see it.  It’s an experience you won’t regret.  Now I’m off home to ride the Jolly-Juice wave and look up the plural of Moose.

I gives it a moer se (say “Moose” and “Moer se”, – similar hey?) 4 Tsars.

Written and directed by Lara Foot
Set and lighting design by Patrick Curtis
Music by Bongile Mantsai
Choreography by Mdu Kweyama
With Zoleka Helesi, Mdu Kweyama, Bongile Mantsai, Thami Mbongo, Chuma Sopotela, Apollo Ntshoko

Info:

It’s at the Baxter Sanlam Studio

Dates and Times:
Opens on Tuesday, 27 July, at 20:15
Thereafter Monday–Saturday at 20:15 except 30 July and 3 August, when the performances are at 18:30

Prices:
Mondays R70 (see Baxter Mondays below)
Tuesday–Thursday R120
Fridays and Saturdays R130

Discounts: (Tuesday–Thursday only)
UCT staff, senior citizens, students and block bookings of 10 or more R80 (Tuesday–Thursday only)
Baxter Club members R65 (7–10 July only)