goestoshow

(Real) Gone (Girl) isn’t really a play so much as an experiment. A really really interesting experiment. The experiment is that the actor doesn’t have a script to work from, has never seen the play performed, and has only practiced a few key movements as choreographed in advance. Instead of a script, she has an ipod telling her what to say and do.

Lines come out stuttered. More so at first, though Mari Chartier (the actor unique to our performance) quickly found a groove and was able to follow it most of the time, making her performance increasingly natural as the show progressed.

The whole performance seems designed to be as difficult for the actor as possible. It’s a physically demanding role, as the actions themselves are sometimes quite yoga-like, and are repeated endlessly until switched. But it’s also mentally demanding, since she has to figure out where things are going and develop her characterization of the people she’s narrating/speaking for as she goes along. This combines to leave her seeming exhausted by the end.

What this basically means, to me, is that we are watching her the way an actor might sometimes watch their audience (assuming they can see them past the stage lights). We are seeing her react for the first time to the story. Sometimes she laughs a little at something she’s being told through her ipod. Sometimes she hesitates, perhaps unsure of whether it’s reasonable to do what’s being asked of her. She always comes through and performs every action with gusto, however.

But what really fascinated me in this performance is what happened when something failed. Towards the end, it seemed the ipod cut out. Mari was left with no real idea what to do, so she quickly communicated through hand gestures to Andrea Beça, the playwright, her inability to continue.

What I though I saw (through my purely subjective lens) on Mari’s face was something I don’t feel I’ve ever seen in a play before. She seemed a little upset, and I first assumed that she was being asked to do something she simply could not do for physical or emotional reasons. And I realized that for an actor, not being able to improvise your way out of a situation like this, because you know the script or at least the story or the character, must be incredibly frustrating. Like something that might be in a nightmare for an actor. Standing in front of a bunch of people, no idea what to do, no voice to speak through, no mask to wear. It might feel a bit like being naked.

So to me, the experiment was entirely validated by this experience. I don’t have much to say on the content part of the play because I feel I would have gotten more out of it if I were more aware of the lives of the people presented in the play (Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, and their wives). I suggest you scan some wikipedia pages about them before seeing the play if you aren’t already fairly aware of the events of their lives.

I don’t think this one’s for everyone, but if you’re into experimental theatre that tries to do something different and expose a side of theatre you might not ever see elsewhere, do check this one out. It’s worth it.

Tudor Queens was a great start (in terms of new shows) to the Fringe for this year. These women have great rapport with each other and it shows. They dance well together and apart, they exchange witty banter pretty much flawlessly, and they manage to make the play both sexy and informative.

Much of the play is dominated by three of Henry VIII’s wives, the bitter and angry Anne Boleyn (played by Elena Porter), the smug and doting Jane Seymore (played by Ellen Chorley), and fiery and drunk Katherine Parr (played by Morgan Smith. These three form the major part of the narrative, with all their bitterness over their treatment by their king and husband laid bare after 400 years of performing a show in purgatory.

Even so, Katherine of Aragon (Andrea Jorawsky), Anne of Cleaves (Karyn Mott), and Katherine Howard (Delia Barnett) all get their moment in the spotlight. In particular Katherine of Aragon and Katherine Howard get very good dramatic moments, while Anne of Cleaves gets (if historians are to be listened to, ironically) probably one of the sexiest performances of the show.

And all through it, some very sexy dancing from all very sexy women. This is what burlesque should be, really. Not just arbitrary titillation, but something more. I think with the recent rise of burlesque, this kind of show has been something lacking in the field. Tudor Queens rose to the calling and pulled it all off.

I highly recommend checking this one out.