By Fun in the Oven Theatre in collaboration with Teatro en Vilo

York Theatre Royal, 22 Nov 2018

Through physical theatre and contemporary sound design, Fun in the Oven and Teatro en Vilo aim to offer rare insight into the lives of the oft-forgotten heroines of the munitions workers dubbed the Canary Girls. 

Canary is a glimpse into the often overlooked but hugely culturally significant role of women in WWI, telling their stories through Anges, Anne and Betty, three completely different women who are doing their bit for the war effort working in a munitions factory.

The fantastic concept and the three performers that carry this production are its greatest strengths. Katie Tranter plays the leader of the group Agnes with stoicism and humour, Robyn Hambrook is prissy and particular as the upper class Anne, and Alys North is for me the highlight as Betty, playing the young girl with panache, perfect comedic timing and buckets of energy.

The visual design and costuming are glorious. The dirtied yellow faces and rough and ready jumpsuits are full of quirky character that verges on steampunk. It feels fun and interesting, like you’re one step away from smelling fumes and hearing the clanging of machinery.

Unfortunately, it pains me to say that’s where the positives run dry. I get more excited about physical theatre than any other type of performance, but its success relies so heavily on it being expertly executed. All too often in this production the movement just wasn’t quite tight enough, not quite precise enough. 

I loved the sound design, it was a perfect mix of early 1900s ‘keep calm and carry on’ charm and creepy dystopian propaganda, expertly voiced by Lawrence Neale. But the choreography felt like it was just short of perfect, and if the two don’t work in perfect harmony then you start to feel on edge as an audience member. I want to feel safe in the hands of the performers, and in terms of the physical side of the performance, I just didn’t.

The pacing of the piece also let it down. The focal point of the production is an air raid that shuts down the factory and leaves our three protagonists to amuse themselves through a series of games, confessions, trips (yes, I mean the drug induced kind) and conversations through which they reveal dreams of freedom, football and forbidden friendships. 

The way this played out was through a series of what almost felt like stand-alone vignettes, little self contained stories that would begin with light hearted fun, build up to an emotional moment and end with an awkward silence. This played out several times in a row, which interrupted the natural pacing of how I feel a narrative should develop and often made the emotional impact of the stories feel stilted. I didn’t feel any build up in the piece as a whole, or get a sense of the evolution of these women’s relationships. I was left feeling that where I should have felt moved I felt cold, because I had no concept of a narrative arc or any attachment to these characters.

I don’t usually speak with this kind of candor about productions that I have a less positive response to. However, I feel like I want to in this instance because Canary has such potential. The actors are fantastic, the concept is beautiful and the stories that are layered into this piece are bursting to be told. For me, the production feels underdeveloped – it feels as if its on the precipice of tipping over into greatness but just needs to be tightened up. These are clearly a hugely talented company with great ideas and vision, and I hope they continue to grow and live up to their potential in future shows. I’ll be watching with interest!

by Charlotte Keatley

London Classic Theatre

York Theatre Royal, 20 November

Charlotte Keatley’s My Mother Said I Never Should is an important play for me. When I was 17 my wonderful drama teacher chose it as our A Level performance piece; we studied it, rehearsed it, spoke about it and our own experiences of being women. I can’t say I loved it at every moment during that period – cutting a play to smithereens to accommodate just two actors, a limited timeframe and the arbitrary requirements of a travelling examiner doesn’t generally make for a thorough appreciation of a play – but I can’t say it didn’t have a lasting impact on me.

A lot has changed for me personally since then; I’ve gone to university (in Manchester no less, which is partiuclarly relevant to this play), had jobs, learned to small talk, been unbelievably sad and unbelievably happy, got myself a Dan and known all sorts of people. It’s also been enough time to get some perspective on some of the more difficult family stuff I was in the midst of when I was a teenager. Safe to say this production was a lovely reminder of how much we change and learn without even realising it, as well as a reminder of how important relationships are seldom easy.

The play follows four generations of women from the same family across several decades of their lives, centring around Jackie’s decision to give her infant daughter Rosie to her mother to raise. It examines their relationships with one another, and how they are shaped by their expectations of each other and themselves, exploring the cost of freedom and change. It is very much a play of its time, (something that is shouted loud and clear by the fantastic costuming in LCT’s production – I’m looking at you purple jumpsuit), but that is by no means to suggest it is not still blisteringly relevant.

Part of the allure of this play to a young Sarah who had grown up reading, watching, and largely admiring solely male protagonists (to the detriment of my self image) was its placing the female experience, and therefore female actors, front and centre. The four actors in LCT’s production are fantastic. Carole Dance as Doris, Connie Walker as Margaret, Kathryn Ritchie as Jackie and Felicity Houlbrooke as Rosie are all completely distinct characters and yet strikingly familial.

The portrayal of the complexity of their relationships and the subtlety of the traits and anxieties that have been passed down through generations is not only a testament to Keatley’s writing, but to the emotional dexterity of these actors. To portray the push and pull of love, resentment and the desire for independence that feels pretty universal to the female experience is no easy feat, and the performances felt steeped in personal experience.

The realism in the dialogue and performances is all the more important in contrast to the abstract nature of the set – in this case a haunting and surprisingly versatile junkyard designed by Bek Palmer. I was easily transported from 1940s living room to 1980s office without having to stretch my imagination through the strength of the performances.

I have always struggled with the parts of this play involving the actors playing children, but I will say Dance and Walker in particular managed to pull these difficult segments off with surprising innocence and charm. Whilst I don’t think I’ll ever be completely comfortable with it – and I don’t think we’re necessarily meant to be – I got much more of a sense of the importance of those sections seeing them brought to life by such accomplished actors.

I was struck by so many things that had never occurred to me before I had the chance to see this play as it is meant to be seen. There is a sense of energy and urgency amongst the women that I found strangely moving, probably because it reminded me so strongly of so many of my favourite women. I also realised how incredibly keenly observed much of the dialogue is; I feel like every other line I was thinking it was like listening to my mum, or my sister, or Dan’s gran.

I was surprised by how much My Mother Said spoke to me, and in such a different way to when I was a teenager. I suspect that I will respond to it completely differently in another 10 years time and that is a rare thing for a piece of writing or performance to accomplish. I could go on and on. The bottom line is that I am hugely grateful to LCT for taking this production around the country and I feel very lucky that they stopped in York. I’ve very much hijacked this review to talk about my feelings but hear me when I say this was a beautifully put together and acted production. They have taken Keatley’s script and brought it to its full potential, and it’s something I think any person who is, or loves, or knows women should see.

York is the last stop on LCT’s tour so there’s not much time left, but see My Mother Said I Never Should at York Theatre Royal until this Saturday 24 November.

By Gecko

17th October, York Theatre Royal 

After an international tour and a run at the wonderful Battersea Arts Centre during which their set was destroyed by a fire and incredibly rebuilt in just eight days, York has the privilege of hosting physical theatre company Gecko’s Missing. Despite, or perhaps precisely because of, the rich life this production has already had, it is brimming with all the energy and electricity of a show on opening night.

Loosely, Missing takes the audience on a journey into the psyche of Lily (played by Katie Lusby), a woman who has all the things we are told to want – a successful career, friends, a husband – but finds that something is still missing. Through an incredible spectacle of movement, sound, memory and even puppetry, we are witness to her experience of reconnecting with her roots and reshaping her own identity.

From the very start Missing crackles with emotion. We are thrown into Lily’s fast–paced world with a flurry of perfectly executed choreography that’s fluid one second but sharp and angular the next; painting a picture of a life that’s all smiles on the surface but disturbed underneath. The performers breathe, shout and whisper in time with their movements while music and multilingual recorded sound create a vibrant soundscape.

There are a host of visually stunning moments, from a chaotic work environment created with swirling lit screens and coffee cups, to the hazy screens held in front of performers to create a window into Lily’s memories. A more evocative portrayal of memory on stage I have never seen; Lily remembers impressions of events as the screens hover on hands, legs and clothing. Voices are loud and confused, with snippets of coherence. The emotion attached to a memory permeates every aspect of it as it replays and rewinds before our eyes.

Each performer in the small company of five is perfectly cast and masterful in their performance. Lusby portrays a palpable sense of quiet desperation as Lily; Gecko’s creative director Amit Lahav is mesmerising as a charming but mystical drifter, whispering sweetly in Italian as he draws Lily out of herself; Lucia Chocarro is the embodiment of feminine passion and cool allure as Lily’s Spanish mother.

The immense skill behind how they manipulate their bodies is almost easy to overlook because it appears so natural. In one striking memory Chocarro twists herself back and forth as the scene rewinds itself, to incredible effect. At times they flit from one emotion to another, one movement to another, in perfect time with striking sounds. They perform from beginning to end with a frenetic energy that is difficult to look away from, creating a visual landscape that is both dreamlike and acutely relatable.

Physical theatre is the reason I fell in love (sop alert, sorry about it) with theatre, because I think it has limitless potential for creativity. In Missing, Gecko have proved this and then some. By combining movement, sound, storytelling and visual art they have created a piece which is deeply emotive in a way that transcends language. It beautifully captures the visceral power of childhood memories and their lasting impact on the way we relate to ourselves.

If you don’t trust me, take it from DanMan – he, who has been with me for 90% of all the theatre I have seen over the past six years, turned to me at the end and said ‘that was the best thing I have ever seen’. I could go on for a very long time about the incredible amount of detail that has gone into this production, but if I were to list every highlight I would end up writing a play by play of every moment of this thoroughly enchanting piece. So the only alternative I have is to implore you: go and see this show.

Missing is at York Theatre Royal until 20 Oct, before playing Nottingham and Southampton early next year.

By Common Ground Theatre and Hannah Bruce & Co.

6th October, Piccadilly Car Park

York Mediale festival kicked off for the very first time last week and, typically, I missed almost all of it because I was in stupid London. However, I managed to squeeze in a cheeky show at the end of the festival – Common Ground Theatre and Hannah Bruce & Co’s site specific audio re-telling of Baba Yaga.

Despite being a former theatre student and having an embarrassingly pretentious-sounding preference for non-traditional theatre, I’ve actually never attended this kind of production before, so wasn’t fully aware of what to expect. I downloaded an app and put in the unique code that had been emailed to me, and was instructed to turn up at the bus stop outside Topshop with my phone and a pair of headphones no later than 7pm, when the piece would begin. It was all very fun and mysterious. I was a little bit nervous. I felt a little bit like an undercover agent.

Instead of being ambushed by a witch outside a darkened bus stop like I was half expecting, I was greeted by a lovely York Mediale team member who checked by app was synced, and then waited with a wonderfully diverse group of audience members for the piece to begin.

What followed was an audio experience that took us up into Piccadilly car park, pausing at various spots to hear the story of Lisa, who’s life and grip on reality is beginning to crumble as she experiences visions of the titular witch Baba Yaga. Her story is told partly through monologue, partly through echoes of conversations. The sound recordings are dreamy and immersive, with the speech elements really feeling as if the characters were behind you.

The piece was punctuated by little events that felt part of the piece – an empty lift descended and opened just at the right moment; the story-teller instructed us where to go based on incidental-looking landmarks (a bin bag, a pile of traffic cones). I found myself looking around suspiciously – was the woman who just bustled past a part of the piece, or just a passer-by? Is that parked car meant to belong to Lisa, or just the sign of a late-night shopper? At times, it really felt like were following the ghosts of moments in time.

And all too quickly it was over. We made our way down towards the exit to the car park and just as I was expecting the next piece of the story, the credits began to be spoken to through my headphones. I couldn’t believe it had already been half an hour – and this can only be a good sign coming from someone who explicitly does not enjoy standing around in cold carparks. The piece was a work in progress, a pilot to test out the format that will hopefully be developed into a full piece, and I’ll be first in line to buy tickets if it does.

The taster left me wanting more and excited about the possibilities of where Common Ground could take the story – I hope they build on those elements which blended the words we were hearing and the physical aspects of the environment around us. I would love to see them play with messing with our minds more, having flashes of movement out of the corner of your eye or real time sounds mixed with the audio. Whatever they decide to do with it, I can’t wait.

By Kieran Hurley

Thursday 22nd February, York Theatre Royal

There’s always a moment of hesitation for me before going to watch a one man/woman show. Can just one person hold a room for an hour? Can just one person provide enough variety to keep me engaged? And every time I’ve come out of a one person show, I’ve left assured that the answer to those questions is, resoundingly, yes. Kieran Hurley’s Heads Up was no different.

With only a table, a candle and two soundboards in front of him, Hurley tells the story of the moments preceding the end of the world from the perspective of four different characters; Mercy, a highly-strung office worker with a knack for predicting futures; Ash, a 12-year-old girl hiding from the fallout of her ex sending private pictures of her around the school; Leon, a narcissistic, coke-snorting pop star; and Abdullah, a shift-worker coping with his place as a reluctant cog-in-the-capitalist-machine with spliffs and painkillers.

The play is very much an exercise in story-telling as opposed to a typically acted-out piece – which is not to say it is lacking in atmosphere or drama. Hurley sits for most of the production, with two front lights silhouetting his torso dramatically in the background and the soundboard providing Michael John McCarthy’s jarring, starkly atmospheric, soundscape. He brings each character to life with subtle but distinct changes to voice, diction and physicality, his lilting Scottish accent switching from comforting to vulnerable to deranged with each change in character and setting.

The script is a tour de force of storytelling which is truly given an opportunity to shine in this production, the deftness of Hurley’s writing spinning a tale that is engaging and darkly funny in equal measure. Punctuated with gripping dramatic moments that shake you awake and lift it from a theatrical reading to a piece of real drama, the show confronts us with questions about our place in the world and the nature of the world as we know it. It’s an examination of human connection (or our lack thereof), and where our current state of disengagement and self-destruction might lead us.

I’m certainly not the first to say it – Head’s Up won a Scotsman Fringe First award at the 2016 Edinburgh Fringe and Hurley has been getting some pretty stellar praise for a few years now – but this is a show that stands out from the crowd for both its format and content, and Hurley is certainly a talent to watch.

Summary: A blistering but lyrical monologue that will have you on the edge of your seat and leaving the theatre with a pervasive feeling of existential dread – in the very best way.