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Fringe 2010 Reviews (45)
Silent Cannonfire
Of Vast Bigness
Zoo Roxy.
***
Silent Cannonfire feels like it's missing something. It is, of course: this piratical production is performed entirely without spoken dialogue, instead mimed and mummed to a live soundtrack of sea shanties. It's an interesting conceit, but Of Vast Bigness treat the speech embargo mostly as an obstacle they've placed in their own way, not an opportunity they've presented themselves.
To circumvent that obstacle, the company communicate dialogue in every possible way other than speaking it aloud. Lines are discovered conveniently written on flags, fish and the undergarments of harlots, and Captain Hatebeard communicates exclusively via scrolls written hastily in the blood of his crew.
To be fair, the revelation of each unexpected little innovation does contribute to Silent Cannonfire's surreal, madcap humour; but the storytelling is of necessity so broad that the vast majority of lines revealed in this way just aren't necessary for the audience's understanding. The same information could be communicated more easily, and more in the spirit of the piece, by paying more attention to the physical side of the performances (which often lapse into standing still and mouthing, neglecting gesture).
The live band is a real asset to the production, maintaining a salty atmosphere with melodies cribbed from traditional tunes and a certain blockbuster movie franchise (be careful, Of Vast Bigness, one man's sly reference is another intellectual property suit). The homespun scenery and special effects, including a papier mache sea monster, wouldn't be out of place in a very enthusiastic school play, which may not be intentional but does give the play a pleasingly tongue-in-cheek tone.
Overall, though, it can't shake that sense of incompleteness: that it isn't a production devised without dialogue, it's a regular production with the dialogue ripped away and imperfectly patched.
Matt Boothman
The Chinese State Circus Mulan
Ocean Terminal Big Top.
****
After just ten minutes in the Chinese State Circus's big top, my palms are already sore from clapping. Applause soundtracks their entire event in a near-continuous torrent, accompanied by vocalisations of awe both voluntary and involuntary.
The legend of Mulan – who disguised herself in her father's armour and became the Emperor's only female general, unbeknownst to all – provides a loose framework for this year's extravaganza. Each act is contextualised as part of the celebration of Mulan's birth, part of the Emperor's army or part of the enemy's.
Mulan gains her martial prowess by studying with the Shaolin Warriors, whose presence is clearly a coup for the circus: every three or four acts they're back, breaking metal bars on their heads or lifting each other on spearpoints. Their martial arts displays are almost too fast to register as impressive; we can marvel at their speed, but the movement is a blur, its precision and intricacy impossible to appreciate without a slow-motion replay. Everyone applauds regardless: did I mention these men can break metal bars with their foreheads...?
The dialogue is clunkily dubbed through the PA, but that doesn't matter: it's brief and infrequent, and its only real purpose is to distract the audience while the next act sets up. The story intrudes precisely as much as is required to give the acts a sense of purpose, and thence stays out of the way of what we're all there to see: acts so skilled and polished you'll double-take, realising only after a moment's reflection just how breathtaking their apparently effortless feats actually are.
Matt Boothman
Mark Watson : Do I Know You?
Assembly Hall.
*****
RIP Mark Watson. It is sad to have to report that the innocent little Welshman, who used to suffer every disaster going then report back each year, is dead and buried.
He has been replaced by a national TV star with an English accent and the confidence to work an audience of 820 people.
Admittedly, the new bearded, bespectacled variety still has rounded shoulders and bemoans his bad luck but the difference now is that nobody believes him.
In the last year, not only has Watson appeared on innumerable TV and radio shows, he has published a new novel, made shedloads of money promoting silly drinks and cat food but best of all, is now a proud father.
What Watson has not lost is an ability to amuse through his whimsical sense of humour. Somewhat unfashionably, he avoids aggression as a comic tool and proves that it is unnecessary. A high degree of intelligence seems to be more important. Which other comedian would use words like “tautology” and “parabola” in a single evening?
It takes a long time to get that many people into a theatre but this is not wasted, as the comic shares his observations about the audience through what are effectively tweets delivered through the medium of three gigantic screens, much to the amusement of early birds.
Once he starts speaking, the laughs come thick and fast, whether it is at the expense of the inevitable latecomers and weak bladder brigade or Watson himself.
There are not too many themes these days, though those adverts are popular together with the experience of being a recognisable TV star.
It all adds up to a great evening packed with audience interaction and jokes involving inter alia two heroes, Derren Brown and Barack Obama, though the latter could be even more of a hero if he took Watson’s advice (but he would probably instantly become a former President).
Mark Watson remains one of the most popular draw cards in Edinburgh and anyone lucky enough to get a ticket will be left in no doubt why that is the case.
Philip Fisher
Impossible Things Before Breakfast: All Is Vanity (Or With Apologies to Nathalie Sarraute)
By David Eldridge
Traverse 2.
***
David Eldridge has written an edgy black comedy to entertain audiences at breakfast time, though some might find it a little indigestible so early in the day.
Charlotte and Richard (the ubiquitous Meg Fraser and Ian Dunn) are visiting the Kentish home of Richard’s boss Roy and his wife, Ursula (a particularly impressive Mark Lewis and Jane Bertish).
Early on, a bee stings Roy on his head, causing a little fuss and reminding him that in childhood, a cousin / friend perished from a similar sting.
The conversation turns to parenthood, leading to general dissension, as the women hanker after children, while the menfolk have more important problems to deal with.
By the end, the characters begin to fulfil the (slightly mad) Ursula’s roles for them of skull (Roy), hourglass (herself), flower (Charlotte) and nonentity (Richard).
More chilling though is her reminder that we must all progress from flower to hourglass to skull, or, put another way, the beautiful are destined to age then die, making any achievements at best temporary.
Philip Fisher
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