On Thursday I went along
to SLAP at the new
space in York, Artemis House. It’s an event
organised by 70/30 Split Theatre and Matt Baker, of LPA Theatre, a children’s
theatre company in York. But there was
nothing for kids here.
It was a genuine pleasure
and treat to go to a theatre event without any acoustic guitars. I don’t mean any disrespect to acoustic
musicians (“some of my best
friends are acoustic musicians” he said defensively) but York’s scene at
the moment is very geared to acoustic, folk and country in both the music/open
mic scene and the arts/theatre. Friendly,
accessible, open, warm and traditional.
We’re a Mumford & Son-sy town.
That’s not a criticism of York, I love the place. Maybe there’s some kid in London’s Stratford craving
Laura Marling covers after being bombarded with hip-hop. Who knows.
SLAP had a couple of ace rock
bands. SLAP was loud and electric and,
well, salacious (SLAP is Salacious Live Alternative Performance) and here are
my thoughts about exposure.
At EdFringe this year I
saw some theatre in a small, DIY, independent café. Like…the Fringe of the Fringe. There I saw a piece about falling, in which
the solo artist performing this show downed can after can of Red Bull. It was an act which caused what I’ll call the
“Stop it!” reflex, as an audience member we can see an individual on stage
actively harming themselves. That might not necessarily be painful, but their
body is under damage or threat. In this
case, around 1am, this guy was glugging far too much caffeinated sugar. Stop. What Are You Doing To Yourself?!
On Thursday, Matt ripped
out tufts of his own hair, and offered it to the audience. Matt is so cheerful. He has a big goofy smile and a swagger of
certainty, like he’s in on some knowing joke we’ve not realised yet. When one man in the audience casually asks
for more and more hair, there’s an unease rippling through the audience. Is this guy part of the act? I knew he wasn’t. Matt gladly rips out more hair for the
guy. We want Matt to stop. We want the guy to stop asking. We as audience have this agency and
investment. Matt asks someone to slap him. Someone does.
Is this guy a dick? He’s just
following Matt’s instructions. I could
have stood up and stopped the guy. I
didn’t. Would that have ruined Matt’s
act?
Later in the night, 70/30 Split (two female artists
Sophie and Lydia) perform a fantastic piece about gender identity. They create work which explores burlesque,
feminism, the female body and performance.
Their piece uses dances/movement and a splash of stand-up parody. Early on, they reveal their breasts.
Obviously not physically painful
like Matt’s hair wrenching, it still makes an audience on edge. A social norm as been broken. A theatre norm has been broken. Theatre is meant to be staged, an act, a
joke, a lie. Costumes, characters,
scenes. We are meant to dissect the characters,
not the actors. But here Lydia and
Sophie are blunt and honest.
As an audience, we don’t
really know how to respond. Someone wolf
whistles. Their exposure changes the
mood. Charges it, winds up tension,
splits a room. I’m no telepath, but I
assume someone feels guilty. The thought
crosses our minds that being physically exposed, even by choice, is harmful. Exploitative.
Stop it.
But it’s Sophie and Lydia’s
choice to show their breasts. They look
bored. It’s no big deal.
Yeah, Boobs. We’ve
Got ‘em . Deal With It. Move On.
That’s our problem. If
it’s voyeuristic, we’re the voyeurs.
Another quick
example: In ‘What I Heard About The
World’, Chris Thorpe tries to drink a glass of salt water to prove the world’s rising
tides problems can be saved by drinking the sea. It’s funny but…Uck. Stop It.
I think about this
exposure in theatre. About making your
body be harmed, damaged or exposed to an audience. An offering which triggers uncomfortableness undoubtedly,
but also a care and sympathy for the fellow human being. The STOP IT reflex can be about protecting
someone.
I think about my
poetry. I would like to think when I
perform certain poems, I am exposing myself, I am putting myself in harm’s
way. I want people to have the STOP IT reflex,
not because it is bad or unsettling poetry, but because it is honest. Entertaining, funny, hell maybe inspiring, but
still has the rustle of an audience uncertain as to their agency.
He looks like he needs a hug
Maybe I do…
I am reminded of Ren Spits At Magpies and
the way she screams her throat raw during certain songs, and yet at other times
in her set she has a beautiful, haunting voice.
I am reminded of a cut up Sid
Vicious, and a bruised Henry
Rollins.
In theatre, the veneer of
actors, cast, tickets, ushers and script allows only the most harrowing of
topics to really unsettle a typical theatre-going audience. We are long post-Sarah Kane. The baby flesh in Blasted is a prop. Matt’s cheek was sore.
Food for thought.
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