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The
Edinburgh Fringe
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Fringe 2009 Reviews (44)Ernest and the Pale Moon After transferring its acclaimed collection of dark fairytales The Terrible Infants to the purple cow last year, this young company returns to a more intimate space at The Pleasance for a new show based around a single story. Ernest gazes out of his window every night at pale-skinned Gwendoline across the street without her knowing. Gwendoline has poor eyesight but loves the moon and her candles. Thomas, injured in the war, lives next door to Gwendoline and is also in love with her, and he carves candles into figures for her. One night, a glint from a knife in Ernest's hand is noticed by the others, setting off a frightening chain of events. Writer Lansley toys with the audience with his quirky story construction, describing the same events several times from different perspectives, each time adding a bit of information that completely changes what we thought we knew before. The style is familiar from their previous production, as the play unfolds mostly through narration with just a few bits of dialogue, and there is a quirky, gothic style (designed by Zoe Squire) and constant music (composed by Tomas Gisby and Neil Townsend) and sound effects which are partly recorded and partly created live by the actors. Lansley himself plays the Ernest of the title, with Grace Carter as Gwendoline in some quite sinister contact lenses, Joe Woolmer as Thomas and Rachel Dawson as the nurse in the asylum where Ernest ended up; all work together very well as an ensemble under the direction of Emma Earle. The show does flag just a little and become more repetitive towards the end and the period it appears to be set in seems to fluctuate between Victorian times, the First World War and an indistinct fairy tale period. However as a whole this is a slick, entertaining and occasionally gruesome hour of impressive theatre. David Chadderton Sammy J In The Forest Of Dreams Avenue Q looks tame and child friendly compared to the disturbing wildlife of the Forest of Dreams, a warped Walt Disney world into which Sammy J is sucked. The puppets aren't just Disney rip-offs, they're superb creations in their own right and are ably manipulated by puppeteer Heath McIvor. McIvor skills give life to a fun-filled forest of characters, some deep, some ditzy and some, like the king of the forest, just plain debauched. While the puppets can be subtle and complex, the intruder into their forest can get a little too much. J at his best is an energetic all-dancing all-singing performer and foil to the quick wits of the puppets, but at times he overdoes it. Sammy J seems to have his bright blue Disney hero eyes a little too set on the audience; beneath the bravado there seemed to be a slight insecurity in keeping our attention. Mostly Sammy J and his youthful exuberance is enjoyable and, in his topless Rambo costume, it's difficult to find fault with him. J and McIvor have a show that by rights should require a cast of hundreds and the never-ending energy of children on a sugar high. Seth Ewin Don Quixote - Theatre of the
Blind What we call madness is just a different way of perceiving reality; blindfolded, we're able to 'see' the world as the chivalry-obsessed Don Quixote (Sunny Moodie) sees it. If he claims to espy a castle, who are we to argue? If he says old Lorenzo's daughter is the fairest maiden in all the world, how can we attest any different? Muckle Roe's production tickles three of our remaining five senses (sensibly steering clear of taste); armour rattles, a horse's tail flicks at our faces, the odour of cowardly squire Sancho's ... fear ... makes us wish we hadn't turned up, and hissing sounds, screams and the smell of smoke combine into a chillingly convincing torture scene. Charlie Ward's adaptation specifically nominates the church as the villain of the piece, rather than simply the general tendency of people towards cruelty. While this diminishes the scope of Cervantes' moral somewhat, combining with the blindfolds to absolve the audience of any complicity with the Don's tormentors, it also helps tighten the plot to fit the 65-minute running time, and to provide a more visceral ending than Cervantes' merely sobering one. Matt Boothman |
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