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Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick
Verdict: Powerful study of diseased motherhood
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick is three related pieces with an interval. There's a cast of 13. Cap is followed by Twixt; there's an interval followed by Slipped. Running times: first half 90 minutes, interval 25 min, second half 45 min, total 2hr 40 min.
The focus is a core family of mum, two brothers, and dead dad. It's a story of diseased motherhood and brotherhood. The first play establishes the characters, the second marries off one brother, the third buries the other. The medium is physical theatre.
Three phrases theatre-goers may learn to dread include 'avant-garde' (company doesn't know what it's about), 'cutting-edge' (ditto, plus gay sex), and 'physical theatre' ('my face is a blank canvas'). This production can lay claim to being both avant-gard and cutting-edge in all the best ways, while being enjoyable and often understandable.
Although it flashes (literally at times) its physical theatre credentials, it's not PT of the worst kind - the characters speak and often make sense, and there's a superbly-designed musical sound-track. There's little pointless posing - which may dismay stool-inspecting fans of Le Coq but come as a relief to everyone else. Above all, it's a fine visual spectacle, with a script that's at times sublime, vigorous direction, and acting that's consistently outstanding.
The formats have similar ingredients. There's a central group of characters in each playlet much as in a conventional drama; and an ensemble who amplify the central action by their responses, or peel off to become additional characters.
Cap. A couple of brothers wear white pants and remember their birth and growing up. Mum remembers in detail. There's a sexy lodger who brother Nicholas spies on. Dad recalls how he drowned in the bath - the boys were born in it too. Recollections, and the drama, are cleverly centred on the bathroom, as a domestic location central to family life. The ensemble's footfalls echo the drip of the tap, and the drying up and flow of water resonate the mother's passionate reflection on her waters of life.
Relationships between mother and sons, and between the brothers, are noticeably disturbed - the effect of speaking them aloud. What remains hidden in minds can sound uncomfortable when revealed, as it must be daily to psychiatrists - this family would keep a team of shrinks in business for years. Alison Trower's lyrical script probes and exposes areas perhaps more universal that many would readily admit. Mothers don't come out of this well.
Cap - Cast Credits: (alpha order): Paula Benson - Mother. Ewan Downie - Brother (plumper brother). Oscar Navarro Garcia - Ensemble Foreman. Sonia Kamel - Woman with Green Umbrella. Caroline Norton - Ensemble. Terri Pace - Cleaner / Midwife / Bride. Delia Remy - Ensemble. Telma Roche - Mirror Woman. Thomas Ryan - Nicholas (slimmer brother). Laura Tassi - Ensemble. James Thomas - Father. Nicki Walsh - Woman in Green / Lodger.
Twixt. One of the brothers (the plumper one) marries. It's much like any other wedding: The best man John is ready to spill the beans about the oddness of the family. The priest's shagging one of the guests. The guests are dressed in black for a funeral. At the end, (slim brother) Nicholas is isolated, having toyed with gay sex with waiter José.
The Bride is isolated too, and closes the play singing Joni Mitchell's Clouds (I've looked at life from both sides now / it's life's illusions I recall / I really don't know life at all). A white-faced woman who has held a mirror throughout the plays, steps behind it, so she can see her own reflection, and offers it to the audience to hold.
It's a stunning finale, and this point feels like the ending of the play. However, there is a third part.
Twixt - Cast Credits: (alpha order): Paula Benson - Mother. Ewan Downie - Brother (plumper brother) / Groom / John the Best Man. Oscar Navarro Garcia - Hosé (waiter). Sonia Kamel - Anya (dancer in black tutu, black tiara).
Caroline Norton - Woman with Grey Hat. Terri Pace - Bride. Delia Remy - Evelyn. Telma Roche - Mirror Woman. Thomas Ryan - Nicholas (slimmer brother). Laura Tassi - Grace the Local Whore (with flowing curly red hair). James Thomas - Priest. Nicki Walsh - Lodger.
Slipped. Mother's in a wheelchair; Nicholas (slimmer brother) is dead on a stepladder, arms crossed, an echo of Jesus about his pose; Icon (a man in a ballgown)'s on a ladder too; the Adopted Aunt (lodger)'s in a deckchair, with Northern accent; Dad's at the side of the stage; there's a Neurotic (with Northern accent); the ensemble march on in black with suitcases. It's Nicholas's funeral.
Guests bitch, Mum becomes demented in her maternity to a greater extent than before, Nicholas more narcissistic. There are several long monologues. Slipped ends, after 45 minutes, with a song.
Slipped - Cast Credits: (alpha order):
Paula Benson - Mother / Woman. Ewan Downie - Brother / Lover. Oscar Navarro Garcia - Ensemble. Sonia Kamel - Neurotic. David Loosley - Icon (Man in Ballgown). Caroline Norton - Ensemble. Terri Pace - Ensemble. Delia Remy - Ensemble. Telma Roche - Mirror Woman. Thomas Ryan - Nicholas. Laura Tassi - Ensemble. James Thomas - Father / Man. Nicki Walsh - Adopted Aunt.
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick
Cap and Twixt are a triumph. The evening is a long one, and could benefit from cutting Slipped. It's difficult to know how Slipped would seem if seen first, or on its own. Seen with the other two, it doesn't share their dramatic quality, and seems superfluous, as if the whole was being artificially extended to occupy a time-slot.
Slipped's content - the reflections by the characters - rehashes much of what's gone before. The format - mainly monologues, lacks the interaction of characters and pace of the first two playlets. The devices - core, ensemble, mimed song - by their repetition in this limper piece, detract from their effectiveness in Cap & Twixt.
Crucially, the interval breaks the dramatic tension created by Cap & Twixt, and Slipped struggles with the battle to restore it. It's conventional to place an interval at a point of expectation - a reason for people to come back. Instead, Twixt ends with glorious finality, leaving Slipped with built-in anti-climax. If what happens in Slipped is considered important, it could be amalgamated within Twixt's wedding feast (already part-funeral). Twixt benefits from a fine and conclusive ending, which could be retained, and the whole trimmed to run at 90 minutes without interval.
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick works from excellence in acting. However its engines are the twin talents of its writer and director.
Director Mike Miller handles a large cast on a vast empty stage with strong visual imagination and a song-and-dance man's feel for melodramatic spectacle. There's nothing po-faced about this presentation, and not much pretension; there's plenty of excellent vulgarity too, and a blazing erotic undertone. Mike Miller shows clear understanding of where to focus attention - necessary (and sometimes rare among directors) with a large cast on stage - and coordinating each performer to amplify the central drama.
Writer Alison Trower presents a remarkable script. The play works on what people think underneath, and to present these thoughts as spoken drama needs a writer with thoughtful perceptiveness, lateral imagination, and the ability to express the result with poetic grace. Alison Trower brings these qualities and a superbly powerful intellect both to see what might lie beneath a family's appearances, and to create from that a play that convinces, moves, frightens, and delights.
The brilliance of Alison Trower's writing lifts the production to a high level. While the format of the whole might stand improvement as noted above, these are points of editing rather than imagination. The strength of Alison Trower's creative genius - a word fully justified by this astonishing script - is to have the thought in the first place, and be able to express it in dramatic form.
The staging has excellence in design from Liz Hopping - her choice of clothes alone contains its own poetry. Her props (the suitcases in Slipped; green umbrella and suit in Cap) add mystery and delight. Lighting designer Mark Howland creates imaginatively defined areas of the stage, and enhances the tension with his subtle modelling of the actors. At one point he lights the principal in white from one side, and contrasts the supporting actors in a soft orange wash from the other - wonderful. There is a remarkable sound-track, designer uncredited, which contributes one of the most important elements to the effectiveness of the play.
Paula Benson provides a strong central performance as Mother. A visually beautiful woman, she invests her character with the combination of maternity, eroticism, and mental disturbance the script demands - with magnetic allure. James Thomas provides a powerful performance as the deceased father, evoking touching interaction with his character's sons. Miming as the fornicating bridal priest to a 50s soft-rock version of Oasis's Wonderwall, he delivers one of the spectacular highlights of the night.
Ewan Downie delivers a delightful podgier Brother, resplendent in underpants and frilly-fronted shirt as Groom and Best Man; he evokes a gentle sensitivity that's powerfully endearing. Thomas Ryan is a constant delight as slimmer brother Nicholas, riddled with narcissism and sexual confusion; as a focal character he draws attention when needed and holds it, making himself fade to the background at other times - a remarkable acting ability.
Oscar Navarro Garcia delivers fine ensemble acting, with a sensitive and where required comedic performance as waiter José. Sonia Kamel delights as the stumbling dancer Anya, in her pretty black tutu and a black tiara/crown straight from Alan Parker's fabulous opening funeral scene for Evita's dad. A stunningly beautiful and elegant woman, her movements abound with grace and her spoken parts delight. David Loosley appears only in Slipped, as the Icon, delivering words with Julian Clary intonation while skilfully balancing self and ballgown-train on stepladders.
Caroline Norton delivers inspired ensemble acting, and shines as the woman in the grey hat at the wedding, elegance of movement and expression defining each of her roles. Delightfully pretty Terri Pace, the petite and blonde-haired actress, delivers a succession of startling roles with élan; she's at the front of the ensemble as cleaner and midwife in Cap, and bride in Twixt. Her gentle and effective singing and facial expressions carry at times unbearable poignancy. Her closing of Twixt, singing Clouds, is remarkably moving. Delia Remy plays Evelyn in Twixt, the character with tight, short red hair; each of her performances ripples with humour and dramatic power.
The play features consistent (modestly-enclosed) bottom and crutch-flashing from the women, flagrant sausage-packing of underpants and bare nipples from the men. There's breast exposure from the women too - Mum leading the way. Telma Roche delights consistently as the white-faced Mirror Woman. It's a subtle part - she's holding the mirror up to characters for both their real and metaphorical reflection - with fine surrealism. When she suddenly presents her (it has to be said, fabulous) breasts in the frame it's both comic and beautiful - there's a Renaissance quality to the result that's both sexy and poetic.
Laura Tassi's the gloriously wild-curly-red-haired woman in the ensemble, and in Twixt as femme-fatale Grace. Each of her performances matches the name - graceful, cheeky and visually lyrical. Nicki Walsh is first the Woman in Green, the Lodger, and Adopted Aunt. Her performances are consistently sparky - from Lodger with Mrs Thatcher intonation and Wicked Stepmother nuance, temptress and seducer of Nicholas, wedding guest and funeral mourner. Her evocations combine a faint chill of evil (Lodger) with drama and a fine sense of comedy. Nicki Walsh and Thomas Ryan delight in a hilarious mimed duet of Burt Bacharach & Hal David's I'll Never Fall In Love Again.
Solo, Nicki Walsh provides the highlight of the night with her stunning costume-change masquerading as striptease to David Rose's The Stripper - a masterpiece of timing, carrying an astonishing erotic charge.
Cast Credits: (alpha order):
Paula Benson. Ewan Downie.
Oscar Navarro Garcia. Sonia Kamel. David Loosley. Caroline Norton. Terri Pace. Delia Remy. Telma Roche. Thomas Ryan.
Laura Tassi. James Thomas.
Nicki Walsh.
Company Credits: Writer - Alison Trower. Director - Mike Miller. Designer - Liz Hopping. Lighting Designer - Mark Howland. Sound Designer - uncredited. Technical Operator - uncredited. Stage Manager - uncredited. Graphics - Ben Wales. Photography - Carrie Brooks. Company - TheATRE hE mME, mm, mm. Acknowledgements: Almeida Theatre, Freedom Bar, Toynbee Studios, Sandra Banninger, Lee Broom, Tony Miller, Maggie Pittard.
END
John Park
reviewed Tuesday 11 May 04 / Lilian Baylis Theatre
(c) Fringe Report 2004
reviews@fringereport.com
FRINGE REPORT
www.fringereport.com
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick
Verdict: Compulsive confusion
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick is remarkable for its uninhibited displays of flesh. The sight of men in underpants is always a visual delight for a female sitting near the front (writes Cecilia Holmes). Hats off to the actors for dropping their defences and revealing snippets of anatomy, alongside words and movement. It’s all the more admirable with the diktat for gym-toned bodies and obsessive fitness regimes. These ones come in many shapes and sizes - buttocks wobble, and breasts quiver.
The play’s a compulsive confusion. There’s a mish-mash of a storyline that rules out - even with earnest concentration - a clear level of understanding. The lack of foundation to a story that fails to read from left to right undermines the skill of the players. Perhaps because our oral and narrative tradition of learning affects all art-forms (with theatre at the summit), theatre without a trace of narrative structure can leave the viewer feeling left out of the performance.
Dream sequences and snatches of conversation spoken into an imaginary mirror would be easier to follow if the main characters were clearly defined at the beginning. Being excluded from grasping the elements of the story makes the play seem introspective in its delivery – a display of acting for art’s sake. This is very clearly not the intention of the writer or director, and theatre is a rich art form, stretching the boundaries of what we see - but it is unsatisfying for the punter to be denied the knowledge of what is happening.
Many a Slipped, Twixt Cap and Dick has an strong taste of the macabre. The use of sensual lighting, and the sculptural quality it brings out in the faces of the cast enthral. An outrageously camp man miming on a ladder while exuding powdery puffs of dust is curiously hypnotic. Half-way through there’s a delightful surprise – some wonderfully childish renderings of songs mimed and danced by the cast – just like being a teenager, singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror.
It is uncomfortable that there is very little use of eye-contact between the actors. It’s possibly a theatrical device to increase the feeling of isolation. But the lack of these visual clues works further to confuse the viewer, and leads to a lack of spirit in the link between action on stage and the audience.
As a whole, the play generates misunderstanding – but if re-assembled, there are areas of unique quality. The excellence of lighting, great costumes and the zest of the actors cannot however at present blossom to full potential. A clear view of how the play reads in its entirety would be of great benefit.
END
(c) Cecilia Holmes 2004
reviewed Tuesday 11 May 04 / Lilian Baylis Theatre
Fringe Report (c) Fringe Report 2002-2008
www.fringereport.com
