Read about all of 'em, or skim through to find what strikes your own fancy.
An hour-long vaudevillian clown ho-down of physical theatre, using the "bad quarto" of Shakespeare's Hamlet (the first draft - a shorter and less poetic version). The man you see first in this video is the famous ghost of Hamlet's father. Never have I seen the ghost portrayed in a more exciting way.
We entered the theatre space and found seats while this guy sat on stage, quietly scowling at all of us. When the theatre fell dark, he began playing the opening song. When he finally appeared to Hamlet, it was out of the mass of bodies of the rest of the ensemble. They writhed in a foggy blob and he rose to the top of the ever-shifting human mound. They moaned, they shrieked; hands reached about, faces contorted as he told his tale and asked vengeance of his son. He spoke of hell as he clearly stood in it. Then everyone disappeared in a blast of fog, and the ghost appeared back in his chair. "Spare some change?" he asked, holding out his hat. It happened so abruptly, so seamlessly, the audience audibly GASPED.
A site-specific promenade piece of HORROR THEATRE. (Promenade = you walk from site to site as the story unfolds.) Set on multiple floors of U. Edinburgh's med school Anatomy wing, the adventure began outdoors when the waiting audience was split into 3 groups. Then we were ushered inside to watch a man - "the maestro" -- perform a concerto before hobbling away wide-eyed. We were then taken into different rooms by group. We were candidates seeking entry into this man's conservatory, but as we delved into his mind (through tasks he asked of us, and items that belonged to him), we found much more than music.
Two rooms haunt us still. One was a bare space with only a telephone, a metal cabinet and a keyboard. The maestro's voice from above asked us to step up and play the opening notes to his sonata. My husband stepped up to the keyboard, realized he did not know anything about pianos, and very sincerely botched it up. The telephone rang. He shakily answered it, and a voice only he could hear said, "Let the piano keys eat your fear." Then the metal cabinet began to shake, and a tiny voice said, "Let me out, let me out!" I was the obvious choice to open the doors, as I was standing right in front of them. Instead of helping, I hid my face in my hands, leapt away and cried "No!" :) Someone else did the honors. A "body" wrapped in garbage bags fell out.
This video does a great job of describing the latest piece by our new friends at Little Cauliflower. No words; live scoring by a company member playing harmonica and another one jumping on flute for certain scenes. Literally made us laugh and cry.
The story of a cartoon-turned-puppet-turned-cartoon searching for what all of us seek at some point or another: a purpose. A lost love. A reason to dance.
I wept. Heh. I was not alone.
This 5-minute adaptation of a picture book may actually be the most difficult to describe! A show for just one person at a time -- you sit on a stool inside a black box with three little windows in it. The windows open and close constantly, revealing scenes from the story that is being narrated to you. Sometimes puppets appear in the window, sometimes little static models, sometimes human actors in wigs or masks, all with a movie screen background and a perpetual, quirky-vocal soundtrack. At one point, Henry (said book-eater) eats soooo many books, he throws up words! (Poof! Confetti falls into your lap:)
At the end you watch Henry write a postcard to YOU, which you are then handed as you step back out into the light.
This was the one cabaret we went to, and OHMYSTARS, we should get an award for our amazing powers of discernment. This show was exceptional.
Not only can the man's voice give you goosebumps, so can his heart. He set the show up so that every time he stepped through his wardrobe-on-wheels, he was either on stage or backstage. This allowed for huge, fun, showy numbers in crazy-colorful outfits, followed by quiet, deeply-felt songs sung before his mirror while changing (an INCREDIBLE rendition of Radiohead's "Creep" was performed this way). After the show, he appeared outside to give hugs:).
An immersive experience for just two people, born of the collaboration between a theatre director and a film director. We stood side by side and were given video goggles and earphones. Through the visuals that appeared before our eyes and the tiny speakers, we followed instructions that lead to sitting down in what turned out to be wheelchairs that were maneuvered out of the small building, around it and into another part of it. We were lead out of those chairs and into another set, simulating a car, with--through our goggles--the three Faruk clowns above for "companions."
Thus began 15-20 minutes of multi-sensory art film mayhem, as we saw whole worlds through our goggles and a person or people physically outside of us added scents, pokes and the occasional spray for perfectly-timed accompaniment. We were left with a tiny gift in our hands, and removed the goggles to find no one there.
We are both still trying to figure this one out. And that delights me.
A passionate, music-filled audio (& physical!) tour through the rich family histories of two young people--a Scottish woman and a Russian man--about to get married. Groups of 10 or fewer were given synched-up mp3 players and beckoned by a guide to specific places (a church; a garden of photographs; a pub with a corner set aside for a kind of exploded diorama...) as the stories unfolded in our ears. We listened individually, together.
The link above will let you hear some of the beautiful music and storytelling. Apparently, the whole audio is online! I will add it in a comment when I unearth it. Consider it new radio drama.
Yes, one of the last plays we saw was a one-man Hitler speech. But this did indeed turn out to be an invigorating note to end on. Invigorating, because we were tricked.
For a great portion of the show's run-time, Pip Utton (a one-man show star in the UK) played Adolf Hitler speaking to his remaining faithful from a bunker. A single giant banner behind him lit up in just the right way and at just the right times to alternately cause a super-sized shadow of him, and burn the grotesque Nazi symbol into our retinas.
He finished with a black-out. We applauded (actor, not character), and lights came up on him and the whole house. After a "Thank God that's over!" he took off his coat and asked for a cigarette. And then he chatted with us. He was funny and warm, and though we were one part delighted, you could also tell that most of the audience was confused as to where this was going. We figured it out at varying points, and some--those who walked out--didn't catch on at all.
At first he seemed to talk about this and that, tossing out racial epithets as jokes for some to titter at, some to actively not. Then his light and airy conversation slowly found a focus. His Pip Utton gestures turned more rigid and quick--sickeningly Hitler-like. He spoke of the great British people, and how his father fought monsters and fools like Hitler to be able to free glorious Great Britain and keep its people cleansed of outsiders. Near the end, he stood before the banner, holding the coat with the Nazi symbol on the sleeve clearly showing. He said:
"I don't need a second coming. I never left."
I believe every hair on my arms stood. You could slice the air, thick with shame, silent gasps, disbelief, painful belief.
So many shows revealed to us how far theatrics have come. This one showed us how much further humanity needs to go.
And this isn't even everything! What was so striking about the pieces we saw - which you reflect in your selections here - is the fact that amongst pieces that amazed us by poking at (or kicking at - or completely ignoring) the definition of what a live performance event could be, we were just as arrested by a performer engaging with us on a stage, whether solo or in an ensemble. Bold experimentation mixed with polished mastery made for a dizzying week of wonder that's quite well represented here.
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