The audience is led to an upstairs room - a somewhat dilapidated conference-room – and left to wander. A soundscape of incessant muffled dialogue interspersed with unrelenting ringing noises charges the brain to the point of meltdown. We are asked to look out of the windows, across the street outside to The Old Ship Hotel, where windows light up, revealing two separate rooms, both of identical decor. A solitary table lit by a bedroom lamp reveals a double bed.

We remain waiting until the play’s director guides us to look down at the opposite pavement. A lovely-looking woman strides blissfully towards the hotel's entrance, clutching a red heart balloon and wheeling an overnight luggage trolley. It is an image of solitary beauty, but also of deep loneliness. On entering the building, she becomes invisible until she appears in one of the upstairs lighted rooms - but so too does an identical figure who occupies the other room.

Both figures emerge, both dressed alike, both adopting the same gestures and movements, as they await their lover. They, in turn, phone the gentleman. We hear their one-sided conversation through amplification in the audience room. We become observers to this tale of expectation, hope, and ultimate rejection. As the piece builds towards the waiting-game, a third woman - again identical to the other two - appears in the upstairs room. She becomes integral, both in action and conversation - suggesting that all women have at some point been disappointed with the unreliability of the male. The climax of the piece is the final phone-call the women make - and the realisation that she has waited in vain, just a mistress in a sad tale of broken promises and false illusions.

The original woman appears at the hotel door again, sobbing and rejected, broken and bruised, unable to control her overwhelming emotions to passers-by. These are left wondering how and in what way to offer any kind of comfort - unaware of this being no more than a theatrical experience, subject to a private audience opposite. The final scenario, where the woman allows the balloon to float away before walking down the street and out of sight, is simply breathtaking.

This is a clever, if not unique, concept of exposing a private moment into a public sphere. The installation of theatre into public spaces is nothing new, but director Jodee Mundy handles this extremely well - both in her choice of venue and in its use.

The problem is that the concept outweighs the content. For the piece to have theatrical viability, it must rely on a brilliant execution of mime and movement, interactive technology, and a gravitas of subject matter - as yet, this has to be achieved. At times the movement is too shallow in its attempt to translate real emotions, and given that the company's ethos is based on the training of the Ecole de Mime Corporel Dramatique - this is certainly not in evidence - it merely amounts more to exaggerated and repetitive gestures than to a skilled or indeed original mode of communication.

Similarly, the dialogue - often inaudible due to basic technology - is not strong enough in its poetry or content. Too often it sounds like Mills & Boon, making the piece like an episode of Sex and the City. Basing future work on established writings - short stories, poems – could perhaps assist in finding the company's originality.

As the production is heavily reliant on music, it is a shame that the company doesn’t credit their choice. More importantly, the company perhaps needs to be absolutely assured that it is the piece itself rather than the music which provokes the audience's reaction.

Cast Credits: (alpha order): Luisa Hastings Edge. Anne Jonsson. Yeo Jing Sung.

Company Credits: Director - Jodee Mundy. Designer - Ellen Dowell. Sound Designer - Joe Bell. Lighting Designer - Ola Lempke. Publicist - Louisa Norman. Written by the company. Company – Theatre In Translation. Website - www.theatreintranslation.com

END

(c) Mike Miller 2007

reviewed Friday 25 May 07 / Sussex Arts Club

Fringe Report (c) Fringe Report 2002-2012

www.fringereport.com