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Fringe 2007 Reviews (79)
Sorry for the Missiles!
Choreographed by Vanessa Haska
Scottish Dance Theatre
Zoo Southside
*****
You could be told a hundred times what it might look like when a body
is torn apart by gunfire or grenades, but the impact of seeing it visually
represented would outstrip any of those descriptions in horror and power.
Dance is not typically a violent art form but Scottish Dance Theatre
have decided to use war as the subject of their latest piece and use
the full capacity of their disciplined forms to express its psychological
and bodily effects.
Wild celebratory beginnings signify a communal folk spirit, with bunting
hanging from the rafters and kletzmer-inspired music whipping up merriment.
Before long, one girl has wandered from the crowd and fallen down lifeless.
This signifies a shift in mood, where every aspect of festivity is interrupted
by a dark cloud or shadow. From bodies lolling off a washing line to
the contortions of physical pain, this relentless and intuitively drawn
piece speaks volumes about the effects of war on civilian bystanders.
In a particularly arresting moment, two couples mirror each other in
tango, until you realise the woman in one duo is unconscious, and the
other is fending off attack.
It is interesting that, in providing an analogue for the current ongoing
conflicts in various parts of the world, they have chosen costumes and
setting reminiscent of 1940s Europe; perhaps this is the kind of war
we recognise, when other parts of the world may seem distant. In this
sense the production both loses and gains power, the period costumes
slightly diluting the piece's contemporary relevance.
However this does not detract from the respect due to this bold company
for tackling the issue of war with candid brutality. As the haunted
faces of the dancers back away from the audience, they go some way to
surmise the terror currently being inflicted in Iraq and other conflict
zones, and turn the question of culpability outwards into the crowd.
Lucy Ribchester
Prodigal Daughter
Women of Asia (Australia)
C Chambers Street
**(*)
Prodigal Daughter tells a gruesome tale, one which centres on
the suffering visited on women when men make wars and the lasting repercussions
on family life. It is the story of Mina, sent from Seoul to grow up
in America at the age of eight. At 43, thoroughly Americanized, twice
divorced, she is visiting Seoul for the anniversary of her father's
death. She longs for her mother's love but repeatedly suffers the rejection
of an outcast. Eventually, we discover that Mina, aged six, at the time
of the Korean War, was sexually abused by an American general who threatened
to destroy her entire family. Left alone with five children, the mother,
herself a despised Japanese foreigner in Korea, acquiesces to the abuse
in order to feed her family. While Mina is the victim of abuse, she
is tainted and impure in the eyes of a mother who cannot come to terms
with her own guilt.
The two leading roles were interpreted by powerful actresses, but there
were some problems with casting that confused race and age and precluded
engagement. There are some theatrical styles that support casting against
type, but this is not one of them. Realism is a convention that requires
suspension of disbelief and the casting of appropriate actors. The sexagenarian
American general was played by a young Anglo-Australian. His aide had
a distinctly Australian accent. Neither of them was convincing and therefore
the menace, the machismo, the guilt that ultimately led to the general's
suicide was rendered nil. Felicity Steel (the Mother), with her European
looks and accent, was hardly credible as an old Japanese woman in spite
of a good performance as the character.
I gather also that the play was cut to 1.15mins from 1.50 in its original
performance. However, in its present manifestation, it is too long.
There is no psychological development: it tells all in dialogue form
and leaves little to the audience's imagination.
Jackie Fletcher
The Angel and the Woodcutter
Cho-In Theatre
C Chambers Street
*****
The history of Korea in the 20th century must entail too many personal
tragedies similar to those depicted in exquisite movement theatre by
Cho-in. The Japanese colonisation, the post-war occupation by America
and the ensuing civil war that split the country in two, devastated
the population. Nonetheless, these are universal themes and the profound
anti-war message carried so movingly by The Angel and the Woodcutter
is relevant today in all too many countries across the globe.
This is a heart-rending tale of a humble peasant and his mother who
are forced to move when the young man kills a hunter poaching on local
deer. The tender relationship between the two is expressed with remarkable
physical symbolism and a great deal of comedy by Song, Kyeong-soon and
Lee, Dai-hyuk. While searching for a wife for her son, the mother steals
the beautiful robe an angel (Lee, Sang-hee) has hung on a tree to dry
while bathing. The angel is bound to earth, forgetting her angelic status,
and becomes wife to the woodcutter and mother to his child. All of this
is depicted with a non-verbal, physical language which is delightfully
engaging and often very funny. The company also use shadow puppetry
to great effect. However, the son is obliged to go to war, is battered
into a martial spirit by masked soldiers representing a universal military
authority. And from thereon in the idyllic life turns to tragedy as
the women are tossed from place to place by violence and starvation
striving by any means to keep the child alive.
Cho-In was founded as a physical theatre company to transcend the limits
verbal language imposes on audiences. Using a blend of traditional and
contemporary physical styles they aim to bring audiences together to
share those universal traits that make us human irrespective of nationality,
race or culture. And these are physical actors par excellence.
Their use of objects, puppetry, masks, music and movement creates an
innovative fusion of narrative means, one which enhances the emotional
engagement of the spectators.
The Angel and the Woodcutter is a deeply moving piece of theatre.
The story is heart-breaking, but the performance itself is a triumph
of communication that transcends boundaries.
Jackie Fletcher
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