Tag: spoken word

REVIEW: Listen to the Forest

Published on by holliboydLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

A beautiful, thoughtfully crafted artistic performance exploring the beauty and wisdom of nature and the value of life

Listen to the Forest, the first onstage work of creator and choreographer Valeria Levi, promises to be “an experimental dance performance blending movement together with spoken word, music and BSL,” and “a space to explore our capacity of feeling and empathy for other life-forms through our connection with breathing.” An explanation that perfectly describes and sells this production. 

From the moment that we walked into the theatre; an atmosphere was created. Pinecones and branches covered some of the chairs, white-noise style music played, and the dancers were lying down “breathing” on the stage. It felt like walking into a story, rather than sitting down to see a show, which worked perfectly with the idea of “the forest.” The way that everything tied together – the decoration of the theatre, the lichen-covered instruments, the simple stage set-up of a few trees and wooden blocks, the eerie music mimicking the rhythm of breathing – was very satisfying, and it was easy to tell how much thought and care had gone into each meticulous detail of the production. 

The performance itself was no exception. It was predominantly an expressive dance piece, with two dancers representing “life-forms” of the forest, and another performer playing the instruments. The choreography was amazing and absolutely visually beautiful. A balance was struck between soft, fluid, water-like/wind-like movement to slow, haunting music or silence, and more intense, erratic, discordant moments. There were times when the two dancers interact to depict harmony, and times when they appear to be at odds and cause the near deaths of each other. Simple yet effective prop usage also furthers the effectiveness of the piece’s ability to capture the different states and personalities of nature, what happens when it is left to exist peacefully, and what happens when it is pushed too far. The interlacing of each artistic element works well, with Gaelic song, rain sticks, and the continuous motif of breathing further enriching the viewing experience.

A compelling spoken word portion, including powerful lines like “you keep pulling me, pushing me” and, “you’re not listening to me anymore, give me space to breathe” also ties in the themes of environmental protection and climate change, and gives the piece a deeper, more moving quality. 

Well-executed hybrid pieces like this one are important as they highlight the creative possibilities of dance, music, and spoken word and the power of weaving them together, all while diversifying live theatre, and making it more naturally accessible. It was particularly lovely seeing a show that wasn’t just BSL-interpreted, but that had BSL at the heart of its expression. This production, which thrives on its craftsmanship, artistry, thought and attention to detail, also especially shows how you don’t always need frills and fanciness to create something powerful. 

I would say that small refinements could be made to the spoken word portion of the piece. Most of the lines were poignant and powerful, but there were some that didn’t make as much sense as others, and moments where the meaning and address was unclear. However, the artistry of the performance as a whole was stunning. I’m excited to see it to return to Edinburgh for an official premiere, and recommend it to anyone who appreciates dance, spoken word, nature, or who just wants to see something lovely and a bit different. 

REVIEW: The Land of Lost Content

Published on by chriswood14Leave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Poetic storytelling over pints, that sometimes stands in its own way.

Land of Lost Content is an autobiographical coming of age story written by Henry Madd, and co-directed for the tour with Nic Connaughton and Lauren Lambert Moore. The show is performed by Madd alongside co-star Marc Benga, playing Henry’s boyhood friend Jake. 

The play is told as a collection of stories. Henry and Jake are two friends from a small village in rural England, sat together over a pint in their local pub, recounting tales of their lives, sharing the stories with the audience that surround the key moments that defined their growth from boys into young men. From village folklore, school discos, and first experiences with girls, to secret woodland raves, substance abuse, and mental illness, we’re given intimate insights into Henry’s life that seek to both celebrate and chastise the quiet English village experience. 

For the entirety of the show, Madd’s script is exquisitely poetic. We’re given wonderful spoken imagery that is so well crafted, I’d love to get hold of the script just to re-read it at my own pace. Because while it was beautifully written, this sometimes made the script feel a little overly convoluted, and sometimes confusing. A trade off to performing sublime poetry is that your audience members are at risk of falling behind, lost in the weeds of your words. 

For the first three quarters of the play, there isn’t too much of a plot to speak of. We’re simply being told stories because they’re there to be told. These stories had an unfortunate inconsistency in how engaging they were, however. Much like a good but not great musical album, I’d probably skip a couple on later listens. 

Even when the stories were less interesting, Madd and Benga performed their roles well, both bringing their best boyish charm to the more whimsical stories, and a melancholic poignancy to the darker moments. 

The closing moments of Land of Lost Content are wrapped up with a sombre tone, and we’re left to reflect on how painful growing up can be. And while the play doesn’t make us drink, it certainly leads us to the water around the social issues of men’s mental health, and the neglect of the rural corners of our country. I applaud Madd for writing and telling those stories. 

REVIEW: Everything’s Working Out…Poetically

Published on by mariaansdell1 Comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

An inspiring night of witty wordplay and transportive storytelling by slam poetry powerhouses

As anyone who’s been to the Old Fire Station in Oxford will know, it’s a welcoming venue of committed localists. On a chilly November evening, the atmosphere inside was merry and sociable — the room filled with the kind of cerebral chatter you might expect from an Oxford crowd. An utterly charming set up for someone completely new to the world of slam poetry. 

Poet aficionado and compère Tina Sederholm introduced the evening with effervescence and charm, dressed in a fantastic cherry-red velvet jumpsuit (that fully deserves its own shout out). “Poetry can shine a light on the darkness and chaos,” Tina noted, revealing the theme of the slam: hope. Reflecting on recent weeks (nay, months, years) of harrowing global affairs, it’s nights such as this — witty, silly, transportive — that felt all the more a privilege to attend. 

Tina kicked off her set by holding a mirror up to the very nature of being a performance poet, its associated communities and somewhat pretentious events frequented by the “poetry illuminati”. Her work poignantly combines memoir, humour and realism to interrogate what it means to make art in our modern society, from the very placement of a comma to what one’s lasting cultural legacy might be. Alongside the neat sarcasm and intellectual reckonings, her sunshiney attitude was completely enthralling.   

“Doom… is so now,” announced Danny Chivers, who next took to the mic. Declaring his poetry as profoundly political, he admitted it felt somewhat challenging to apply the theme of hope to the current state of politics. His humility then gave way to dynamic verse injected with clever quips and rhymes; the upbeat pace of his speech matching the frenzied state of our society. I particularly loved his poem imagining Oxford as a place of joy, nature and art, asleep beneath the grubby toxins and everyday anger nurtured in a modern city. Contrary to his opening statement, Danny’s poetry was affecting in its optimism. “The momentum of the future flows through those who dare to bear it”. 

Cheltenham’s poetry slam champion Clare Bold followed, commencing her performance with Teaching Assistant, a striking depiction of our education system’s unsung heroes. Her persuasive, eloquent verse was cut with biting asides that had the audience grinning. In an powerful juxtaposition, Clare then turned to the topic of sexual violence and toxic masculinity with expert emotional handling. I loved her down-to-earth demeanour and phenomenal ability to create a poem out of lines scribbled by the audience, conjured in less than fifteen minutes. 

Having been writing and performing slam poetry since their teenage years, Em Pritchard’s set glowed with their masterful use of language and soft sentimentality. In a comparably few lines, they captured the quiet beauty of human experience in its everyday and extraordinary parts. In a couple of poems, the reference to familiar songs — No Other Way, Halo, Uptown Girl — was powerful, a nod to how our generation romanticises through music and the soundtracking of daily life. I found calming comfort in the line: “So what if I don’t have a plan. The light is warm through the bus window,” a reminder that there is pleasure and peace in the day-to-day, even if we don’t have our futures mapped out. 

Before hearing from headliner Tyrone Lewis, there was a hilarious segment where our poets narrated verse from their teenage years. It was full of longing, melodrama and those fiery feelings belonging to a young person’s political mind. Then we were blessed with verse by poetry vanguard Tyrone, who kindly travelled from London for the show. His poems went hard and fast, his language rapturous across difficult topics of race and familial relationships. Tyrone’s most devastating poem about his mother’s illness was powerful in the absence of certain language: “She will tell you she has her star sign”. Then, as a film editor and self-proclaimed lover of cinema, he showcases his poetic genius with a Fast and Furious sonnet. His eclectic mix of verse, taken largely from his two books Blackish and 2 Black 2 Furious, is permeated with intelligence and I look forward to following his journey of continued artistic success. 

This was one of the most enjoyable, inspiring and hopeful nights of performance art I’ve recently attended. These poets offered warmth, intimacy and stimulation across such a broad range of topics. I can’t wait for more spoken word events from these artists and at the Old Fire Station — if I could give this night more stars than five, I would.

REVIEW: little scratch

Published on by Alex AnsdellLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

An intimate piece of spoken word that scrapes under the psyche of the everyday

At this moment, the theatre world is mad on book adaptations. The National’s production of Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane is on what it seems like is its twelfth national tour, the Harold Pinter are currently charging hundreds of pounds for James Norton torture porn with its adaption of Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life – but a subtler, less starry pick can be found not five minutes from Warren Street.

Rebecca Watson’s debut novel-turned-spoken word quadrologue little scratch comes to the New Diorama Theatre from Hampstead Theatre with direction from Katie Mitchell, after adaption from Miriam Battye. 

The play takes place in the brain of a single woman over the course of 24 hours in her life. The four actors (Eleanor Henderson, Rebekah Murrell, Eve Ponsonby & Ragevan Vasan) speak every thought that crosses her mind as she stumbles through her tedious routine – every thought. These actors barely take a breath, overlapping thoughts on thoughts in a tremendous feat of stamina and precision, and the result is a very enjoyable reflection of our own internal psyche.

There is something of the Sarah Kane in Watson/Battye’s language; unending streams of existential apathy, not without bite. This, combined with the Fleabag-esque haplessness of mid-20s existence, makes for a fresh interpretation of a formula gradually approaching over-saturation.

In many ways, little scratch has all the hallmarks of a radio play. The four actors stand at their microphones for the whole show, they carry an intimate tone throughout – they even have Foley tables complete with hairbrushes, sandpaper and other noise-making paraphernalia. This is to its credit and detriment: having visual reactions to the protagonist’s daily minutiae allows the script to keep bubbling but how static the piece is, combined with the relentless dialogue (monologue?), does test our stamina as well as theirs.

Our surroundings accentuate the play’s intimacy. The New Diorama’s snug theatre lends an air of confidentiality, the set – four lamps casting haze on the actors from above – makes them feel like lost relics, holograms. Melanie Watson’s score is complex, layering the everyday with the eerie to push us further into our seats. 

As the clock ticks towards midnight and the lead’s trauma begins to unravel, Mitchell and Battye weave a delicate and quivering thread of past suffering and present monotony. While this is a play that does require a level of endurance unusual for a night out at the theatre, its rich language and potent authenticity make it more than worth a punt.