Adelaide Festival of Arts 2004
Preview image from the ADT show "Held"
comedy patter
Our biennial Festival of Arts is on, and also the Festival Fringe. Last week usagi and I went to the Fringe opening parade and street party. I love eye candy, so I had fun. There was a theme - something to do with light - and I somehow got one of those chemical light sticks hanging from a piece of string around my neck.
After the parade, we were walking around watching street performers, and being regularly accosted by promoters handing out flyers for various shows - standard fare for the event. usagi met a friend who I didn't yet know, and his mother and I were just starting to introduce ourselves when a promoter for a comedy show approached us. We took the proffered flyer. He asked the other mother, while pointing at me, "Why does she have a suppository hanging around her neck?" He received equally non-receptive stares from both of us, but kept talking. usagi and her friend were plotting a get-away from parents, and I blocked out the show promoter's on-going patter as both the kids negotiated reconnection times and places with respective parents. For me that was an intensely focussed activity, but once I was sure usagi and I had a solid agreement, I returned my attention to the wider world, just in time to hear the promoter finish up with "... because it's so dark in there."
I think the other mother had tuned back in at about the same time I did - the look we exchanged was priceless. Then we both broke into laughter. But, BOY, am I glad I missed whatever was supposed to join his opening to his punch line!
Not surprisingly, I didn't bother going to see the show. What I found funny in the situation was the simple astonishing realisation that he'd persisted in blurbling on with an inane line of scatological humour while no-one was listening. No way he could reproduce that dynamic on stage...
eeeeow - I just WANT one
A ticket to tonight's performance of Conjunto di Nero, that is. But it's the final of three performances, and it's sold out, so the odds aren't good.
I went at lunchtime today to the first of a series of arts forums conducted as part of the Adelaide Festival of Arts. Today's was titled The search for new forms of dance - in conversation with Emio Greco & PC Scholten. Also on the discussion panel was Bertha Bermudez Pascual, one of the company's dancers. Having heard their impassioned description of the creative process, I desperately want to see their work. I may have to wait until their film project comes to completion.
Emio had been fascinated by dance since early childhood, but had only been exposed to the possibility of training and a career in dance at the age of 19. He did two years of classical training in his home town in Italy, then moved to France and started seeking a new discipline that would allow him the sort of expression he craved. PC has a background in theatre, and found with Emio an opportunity to pursue his chosen occupation of dramaturge in an exciting new arena. Emio begins choreography with a feeling that emerges as a movement or series of movements. Sometimes this feeling arises from a previous work, as is the case with Conjunto di Nero, which is in some ways a development from an earlier work Double Points: Nero. He starts to work very early in the choreographic process with PC, who seems to me to play a dual role. He develops the "story", though not as a linear narrative. I wonder if he even goes so far as to name Emio's experience to him. And he contributes to the collaboration with staging, lighting, costuming, set design ideas. Emio reports that while developing movements he sometimes experiences an unmanageable expansion of possibilities, and PC helps to channel and contain the work at those times (it brought to my mind the roles of writer and editor). There comes a point at which the essence of the work stands clear of its creator. There is still a great deal of polishing to be done, but at this point it can begin to be communicated to the dancers. Bertha describes her role as to "enter into" the dance and to give it expression through her body (publisher?). This contrasts with the notion, common in modern dance, of dancer as choreographer; and again, with the concept of a choreographer creating a work on the body of a particular dancer. (Or maybe I've just been out of the loop too long - these were astonishingly brave ideas at one time within my memory.)
I am going to see the ADT performance, Held on Thursday night. I'll console myself with that, though I expect it to be much more than a consolation!
circus and Circus
Yesterday I went to the lunchtime forum Movement as Language - telling the story in non-text based theatre, circus and physical theatre with panellists: Peter Andersson (Artistic Director, CanStage), Mike Finch (Artistic Director, Circus Oz), Christopher Heimann (Director, 100).
This progressed beautifully outwards in its range from Monday's forum, showcasing a variety of different approaches to the creative process and the roles of various participants.
Mike, from Circus Oz, made an interesting distinction in his usage between circus (the craft-work of the performers; acrobatic skills) and Circus (the blatant display of the non-normal; the "freak show"). Circus Oz qualifies well on both counts, as well as having a strong committment to the circus tradition of performers' ownership of their acts. Their Big Top Show is known for its strong socio-political themes. Mike described the creation of their latest act. It started when their stuntman decided he really wanted to be shot from a cannon. They found a circus cannon, and he practiced. As he developed the piece, he became an assylum seeker who was shot from the cannon of political oppression, over the razor-wire of bureaucracy, and who came to ground safely on the landing pad of human compassion. (I hope I got the details right.) Mike sees his role as artistic director to be maintaining an overview of the show in its entirety, and "balancing flavours" - I like that.
For this festival, they also performed The Blue Show, an "adults only" work. This show was developed in just one week! Again, performers each had ultimate control over their own acts, but Mike decribed an amusing exercise used to help the show's vision gel - the performers were set the task of seeing how many times they could completely undress and dress within a set time frame. He sees the "adults only" theme as having been most useful as a focus that allowed the performers to shed the mindset that continually self-censors for public acceptibility. The actual show could be G-rated with only minor adjustments.
Dilemma: I have to leave now to catch Steve Evan's book launch at Writers Week. This isn't finished, but I want to post it while it's still fresh. Decision: I'm uploading it with the rest of my crazy notes scrawled down the rest of the page. I'll finish writing/editing at the next opportunity... see you then!
"Movement as Language" continued...
Canstage's show, The Overcoat is different type of thing altogether. Peter Andersson gives us a work with strong narrative thread from Nicolai Gogol's short story. One question from the floor was "What is the value in taking a piece of classic literature, and re-presenting it stripped of the very prose for which it's renowned?" I agree with Peter that audience members will determine the worth for themselves when they see the piece: as an audience member myself, a couple of days later, I found it most worthy of my attention. (I hope to write that one up in the next few days.)
Peter wasn't involved with the original production of this show, but he commented on the process of change of cast. New actors are thrown in deep end - put on a rehearsal stage with the rest of the cast and asked to take it from the top. A video of an early production is made available, but close-ups don't give many clues as to staging... The existing cast works well to guide new members into the production, which is good when there's no script to follow.
He talked about the differences he's noticed in directing dancers and actors in physical theatre. Dancers breathe up high, ever poised on the brink of taking flight... in readiness for ballistic movement; actors breathe low for voice projection and groundedness. While I dispute the absolute validity of these characterisations, I recognise the sense of his words.
100 does have words. Nevertheless, there isn't a written script from which the piece is performed. It was developed holistically from a theme, and this is reflected in the changes that emerged when the show was recast. The new actors were encouraged to deliver a very personal interpretation, though there weren't the same degrees of freedom as with the original creation. The actors play multiple roles, some of them inanimate, and an ability to shift in and out of role at will was an important criterion in casting.
Throughout the talks, several people called this type of work a VISUAL art, and I found it bothering me. I'd agree that there's a visual aesthetic involved, but I think that's beside the point. Eyes are only the pathway to the recognition of the kinaesthetic force of the piece. That's how it works for me, at least.
Held - STUNNING!
Quick start - more later...
ADT See Productions: Present: Held for a slide show of images
Lois Greenfield's page
Commercially available images
Rock Opera a la Edinburgh Punk
Somewhere on the way between point A and point B, we ran across some Fringe street performers. I could almost hear them break into "see me, feel me, touch me, heal me", so we got closer to watch them. Star of the group was a heavily tatooed hairy hulk in a leather kilt and Doc Martins. He was playing cow-skin bagpipes. Then there was a man of slighter build wearing a ripped khaki singlet, cargo pants and camo-patterned hi-top sneakers. He was sporting a curly mohawk, and playing a zither. Slenderer still - so almost not there that I can't describe him - was a drummer. A lovely two-piece drum kit he was working with, too. How they could make so much noise was a mystery, but that's what I like about the Fringe.
Writer's Week
I went to just one day out of the week-long event, but it was a good day - I caught a series of great presentations. First, there was a book launch for three local poets. Geoff Guess writes a great deal of biographical poetry, bringing history to life in unexpected ways. We heard Mary Nolan report, in sonnet form, to the coroner's enquiry into the death of her husband, Sir Sidney Nolan. Jerri Kroll wrote, in poetry and prose, about her mother slipping into Alzheimer's disease, and eventually dying. And you've all heard of Steve Evans, haven't you?
Later, I saw two sessions that included Neal Stephenson. I loved Snow Crash; and was trying to read Cryptonomicon before the event, but only made it part-way through. The first panel he spoke on was What the writers read. One thing he read as a child was "Classic Comics(x?)". He was taken with the idea of literary classics stripped of their prose, and I heard echoes of Canstage's presentation of The Overcoat. The other thing that struck me strongly about his childhood reading experiences was that he remembers the adventure - the discovery of books as a physical, not a mental adventure. He used to ride his bicycle to the Book Mobile when it visited his neighbourhood every week, and borrow books. As with most childhood adventures, he returned to his home as an adult and realised that the distance wasn't great, but it had seemed a great adventure at the time, and that's important. He also spoke glowingly of having discovered unthought of stories within a detailed military history, and much of his current reading is history. Near the end of that session a member of the audience stood to ask him a question. He spoke at length and with great circularity about the reason he wished to pose the question; then he spoke at length and with great circularity in order to frame the question in the context of the panel session; then, when challenged by the chair to come to the point, he spoke at length and with great circularity about the propriety and usefulness of interrupting his train of thought. I don't remember what the question was, but Neal's answer was "Ambiguity is good."
Tired fingers - if you're interested in what he had to say about his own writing, email, and I'll try to cobble toether some coherent comments.
Polly, the opera
Inspiration comes in seventeen flavours
Coffee comes in one hundred and three.
-- Latte
A most delightful Fringe show. Polly put the kettle on in a real cafe, and served the audience a real devonshire tea. The action was staged around and amidst the audience, seated at our cafe tables.
In Act 1, Polly, tea maker extraordinaire, tires of making tea for Earle's tea set when they take her for granted. She leaves. Love-sick Peppermint siezes the opportunity to make tea for Earle, who doesn't appreciate her. Earle instead woos passionate and defiant Suki, and lures her into abandoning her independence for a tea-making career with him.
Act 2 sees Polly's and Peppermint's adventure in the bohemian coffee house. They join the coffee drinkers for an afternoon of poetry and singing, including a recital of Bach's Coffee Cantata. Peppermint falls in love with the beautiful poet Picander, breaking poor long-suffering Latte's heart. The coffee drinkers encourage Polly to try making coffee, but Polly discovers that her heart belongs exclusively to tea, and she leaves.
Polly, alone, bewildered, thirsty, wanders the streets looking for tea, in Act 3. She grows weak, but her spirit remains irrepressible. On the point of collapse, she rubs her old teapot, summoning the Tea Genie and his beautiful assistant. They work their magic, and Polly's tea house is born.
More about Three Blue Fish, the production company.
wasted effort
*sigh* For two weeks I practiced whistling The 1812 Overture (well, the first two phrases, at least), intending to be able to whistle along with the orchestra when I went to the Festival closing event - the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra presenting a selection from their repertoire (which includes the 1812) in Elder Park. Then I didn't go. Hmph!
What's worse is that I tried showing off this new performance piece to several people, and everyone could whistle it better than me. Fie on them! I remain defiantly proud of my modest accomplishment! Sometime as a kid I decided I couldn't whistle, and never again tried it until about three years ago. Then I was stuck for a while with a persistent hoarse voice, and one problem with that was that I couldn't call the cat in at night, so I started trying to whistle for her. It took a while to get any sound at all, but amazingly, I got it working, and she does respond to my whistle now. After that, I started experimenting with sounds other than the series of sharp blasts that the cat responds to and I'm pleased with my skills development to date. I won't let my missed opportunity to practice with the orchestra dim my enthusiasm. Earplugs, anyone?
The Overcoat
Absolutely wonderful theatre performance. Review, maybe one day...
Spanish dancers
A lunchtime forum with Elvira Andres, artisitc director of the Ballet Nacional de Espana (at their home site, you get to Sellecione un idioma), and Garry Stewart of ADT.