Totally unique, Katie Mitchell’s latest theatrical experiment is a practice in the art of really listening.
Somewhere in the countryside at the height of summer, perhaps not far from here, a heavily pregnant cow labours in a barn. A deer lurks anxiously in the forest. This is pretty much the only thing that happens in Katie Mitchell, Nina Segal and Melanie Wilson’s hour long “experiment”, performed by four foley artists (Pandora Colin, Tom Espiner, Tatenda Matsvai and Ruth Sullivan) using only sound to guide the story. It’s potentially a tough sell, but the piece is oddly compelling, and certainly unlike anything I’ve seen (or heard) before.
Foley, according to the programme notes, is a “technique of performing and recording sound effects that synchronise with a moving object.” It emerged during the 1920s, and is most frequently used in film to capture the more intimate noises otherwise lost during the filming process. Cow | Deer leans into the performance art aspect of the foley technique, removing the customary sound booth and confronting the audience with the foley artists live as they tell the story. At first, it’s bizarre; a bit comic. I found I completely missed the first points of ‘plot’, too taken with watching Tom Espiner stamp around in the grass with coconut shells. But as soon as water was poured from a hot water bottle onto the grass to evoke the cow urinating, I was in it. I got it. It’s like tuning in to a different language, and once you have it, it’s satisfying.
Is it enthralling? Not necessarily, but a story does start to emerge, propelled by the growing interference of humans on animal lives. It’s especially interesting to watch such intimate snapshots of the natural world created by humans — the fall of rain evoked by fingertips tapped on wet palms, for example. The scene of a calf’s birth was one of the most engaging moments of theatre I’ve seen for a while. But you have to work for it. It’s easy to get lost. We’re assured that this is natural, however: we’re only human. This is potentially what Mitchell, Segal and Wilson were going for, forcing a stimulation hungry audience to really just listen. We’re even encouraged to close our eyes, though I found this less engaging. There is real beauty in the movements of the ensemble, who became animal-like themselves at times. What we gain from this exercise in listening is access to a world unheard and overlooked.
The climate nature of this piece was slightly lost on me, and if this wasn’t pointed out to me in the programme notes I wouldn’t have thought about it otherwise. Roads have long cut through stretches of animal habitats, roaring planes disturbing the peace of the countryside a longstanding interference. Is any of this a particularly fresh commentary on the climate crisis? But I had a genuine emotional reaction to some of the scenes, which I think is a feat with such limited storytelling tools. I left the theatre feeling as though I had been immersed in a world much smaller and more detailed than my own — perhaps transported. And isn’t that all anyone can hope to feel when they go to the theatre?