Archive for August, 2008

Bloody Dramatic Rooms

Friday, August 29th, 2008

Apart from all the usual productions of Peer Gynt, Hedda Gabler, Rosmersholm and so forth, this year’s Ibsen Festival in Oslo also features Ibsen performed by little plasticine figures…

The theatre designer Inger Astri Kobbevik Stephens travelled to visit kids between 14 and 16 at several Norwegian schools. She boiled down classic Ibsen plots into one sentence (“Girl kills herself although she has everything”, “Mother leaves husband and kids” etc.) and gave them to the teenagers as a narrative starting point. Equipped with a video camera and plasticine the teenagers set about creating, modelling and filming their own stories derived from these premises. Inger didn’t mention the Ibsen plays, so the pupils created without any preconceptions. They modelled their own version of events…

The resulting films are being shown for the duration of the festival in the National Theatre’s foyer, and Inger Astri Kobbevik Stephens screened them at the Open Theatre (Det Apne Teater) as part of a performance lecture entitled Bloody Dramatic Rooms.

Inside little cardboard boxes, lovingly decorated as affluent living rooms with widescreen TVs fashioned out of match boxes, wild fantasies of domestic violence, abuse and addiction take place. It’s revealing that all but three of the fifteen groups (despite complete freedom) decided to stage their dramas in domestic living rooms. The pent up tension of these claustrophobic shoe box homes is in fact quite reminiscent of Ibsen. The way the tension is unleashed though is quite different… There is an abundance of violent humour and graphic detail. The ramshackle plasticine film making is boundless in terms of ambition. In my favourite film for example Nora’s modern-day plasticine husband hacks his way out of the doll’s house with a chain saw. Although most of the scenarios at some point spiral out of control into gratuitous gore, the films are filled with insights into these pupils’ world views and how they perceive “family.” What is starkly obvious is the extent in which TV pervades every aspect of their domestic lives. A TV is featured in every one of the dramatic rooms, as are fathers complaining “you’re in front of the screen” and “shut up, I can’t hear it!” It seems that family life without the TV set has become unthinkable. But it’s not just a physical presence in these films, the vocabulary of TV can be sensed in the making of them. The creators are obviously highly visually literate. They also have an eye for lurid detail and a taste for violent humour. Whilst watching I sometimes think these films are more in reference to movies these kids have seen or series they admire, rather than their own lives in well to do, rural Norway. The “Lady from the sea” film can best be described as Beavis and Butthead meets Ibsen.

So, are these films about Norwegian families, or American families, or how Norwegian teenagers see American families or an assemblage of all the things they fear, idolise or identify with? Whatever the answer (and it’s probably a mixture of all these things) these tiny films seem both harsh and at the same time quite vulnerable. They make for fascinating viewing!

They also seem to suggest that directors confronted with the staging difficulties of say Brand or Peer Gynt should maybe get themselves a handful of play-do : )

Philip Thorne

Break a Leg

Thursday, August 28th, 2008

Our rehearsals of Now You See It; Now You Don’t have been inconveniently, annoyingly and abruptly interrupted by Philip taking the well-wishing of our friends a little too seriously.
Break a leg, they said. And so he did.

Well. It’s probably not quite broken. It’s not removed at the hip. It’s not crushed and jelly-like. It doesn’t even have white bits of bone sticking out. So in that sense, the whole business is disappointingly un-dramatic. But the doctors say Pip’s leg is fractured and that he should rest for a while and not use it. So we have been forced to quit rehearsals and cancel the project.
This means we are not going to Amsterdam, not previewing in Oslo, not visiting the Ukraine, not currently planning another Rome-trip and not going to get the opportunity to take this particular project any further. Which is sad, of course. But life goes on and all that.

Then. When the cloud of disappointment had subsided, the thick layers of irony hit us. Like a slap in the face with a big fish.

Here we embark on a journey trying to make a show about failure. And fail.
We make a show about clowns. And Pip performs the perfect act of slapstick on the staircase outside where we’re rehearsing.
We set about creating a slippery landscape of tricks and fiction and end up physically slipping up.

In fact, we called our show Now You See It; Now You Don’t. And for a long time we could see it looming in the distance. Unclear, slightly out of focus maybe, but full of promise and bright colours and joke shop props and touring plans. Now, we can’t see it anymore. The show is off radar, it has entered the Bermuda triangle of theatre only reappearing like a ghost of memory – like the Flying Dutchman, perhaps, its journey interrupted, but its trajectory forever Amsterdam-bound… (How’s that for a syrupy analogy?)

We were making a show about what we laugh at and why, how we make something un-funny, funny. And it is with all this in mind that we suspect that this whole situation might in fact be a perfectly legitimate laughing matter. It is funny that this whole thing went tits up. Or leg down, as the case may be. We are waiting for the pain to recede – or, Pip is, I’m fit as a fiddle to be frank, waiting for the aftermath of cancellations to quieten down before we make our mind up about this. The laugh-worthy-ness of our current unfortune – does it deserve a five star rating or a meagre two?

But in the end I guess it is to be expected. Not Philip falling down stairs, of course (Well, maybe that too…). What I mean is: When you have the nerve to call your company Imploding Fictions… Perhaps it is only natural that in between the projects where a show successfully implodes the fiction of fake drama, or implodes the audience’s expectations of fiction, or implodes theatre’s fictional frame, or reveals a self-imploded fiction, or implodes the lies of reality and exposes the fiction of truth, now and again a project comes along and simply pops politely, in an imploding fashion, not unlike a balloon bumping unexpectedly into a needle – and folds up. Exactly in the way we imploders expect fictions to behave.

This particular project has – like the aforementioned balloon – popped. Retracted to its own crumpled, wrinkly shape, its true face revealed. It is not a pretty face. It used to be big, red and shiny (if perhaps a little bloated). Now it’s small, raisin-like and a little wet. (Yes, Pip, I’m talking about you again. Oh my god, is that blood? Nurse! Nurse!)

I’m writing from Pip’s bedside at the Norwegian A&E, anticipating a big bill handed over to me with a polite smile by a pretty nurse. (I hate people who smile politely and look distractingly attractive whilst they rip you off.)
- Pip, have you got your E111 with you? Your E111, the European health service… card… thingy… Bugger. Well I’m not paying, you’re the one who fell!?! It’s your fault that it has all stalled, isn’t it? I’m still standing!

But, come to think of it, perhaps I shouldn’t be quite as smug about the whole thing. After all, I was the one who pushed him.

- Øystein

 

PS. Thanks to all the people who have believed in this project; INSTED, the Norwegian Foreign Ministry and the Norwegian Dance and Theatre Centre, the Amsterdam Fringe Festival, International Publishers Forum in Lviv, the Norwegian Church in London, the Acting Department of the Film and TV-academy at the Nordic Institute for Stage and Studio in Oslo and of course our eminent producer Michael H. Sciarrone! We will be back with renewed strength before you know it… (After all, we aren’t broken. Only fractured.)