Witchcraft or the feminist agenda - why not both? We are asked to 'write down a message to a man who wronged you', place it at the centre of the circle of which we are the walls, and watch as the occult unfolds.
Let's Summon Demons follows the story of high witch Rowan, whose supernatural philosophy is interweaved with a scathing feminist polemic, as she welcomes her female friends - the audience - into her new home in rural Wales, at the B&B once belonging to her grandmother. She recalls the ghostly experiences of her youth, invites us to 'open the circle' to the supernatural and, hilariously, divines an audience member's future using biscuits, but the monologue is increasingly coloured by her oncoming hysteria. It's hard to say exactly where Rowan's downfall occurs, because Schutte handles the spiral into delusion with such grace and subtlety that I had a hard time remembering where the laughter stopped. The immersive nature of this show, particularly with the use of soundscapes, means that the audience are continually reminded, and increasingly aware, of their adding to the oppressive environment in which the dialogue takes place.
Let's Summon Demons asks us where we draw the line between morality and justice; the innocence of a male traveller, who inadvertently wanders into the ritual looking for a place to stay the night, is induced by his being outnumbered and silenced by an ideology that does not match his own, and becomes a terrifyingly real parallel to the high witch Rowan's visceral account of domestic abuse at the hands of her late husband. Here, abuse of power breeds itself voraciously; when we ultimately come to hurt each other for the sake of tipping this control dynamic in our favour - are we simply reduced to the very same demons that used to overpower us?
If you fancy a dip into the supernatural, and perhaps your future read in custard creams, then this will be your cup of tea - or should I say witch's brew?
Written by Rowena Price
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Welcome To The Future - Fire Donkey Productions
Welcome To The Future - Fire Donkey Productions
We wake up from being cryogenically frozen, having joined “the right cult”. Mr Butter-Cow
offers us an unlimited supply of milk if we help him to topple the sentient carrot king. We torture
the carrot prince and follow a map to the last known bee to uncover the secret of power
in the year 2058. This sassy bee teaches us to dance, and then we behead
the carrot army with a flourish.
offers us an unlimited supply of milk if we help him to topple the sentient carrot king. We torture
the carrot prince and follow a map to the last known bee to uncover the secret of power
in the year 2058. This sassy bee teaches us to dance, and then we behead
the carrot army with a flourish.
All quite a lot to take in, to be honest. With ‘Welcome To The Future’, Fire Donkey
Productions have created an intergalactic, interactive show which may or may not be your bag,
but is guaranteed to leave you thoroughly bamboozled. From the costumes, (highlights include
a milkable cow hoodie), to the projections (a webcam video of said cow) the production value
is delightfully lofi. The performance, however, is brilliantly polished and high-energy, and
although the whole affair seems like a 6-year-old’s fever dream, the actors seem to have a
gift whereby every single member of the audience has a great time.
Productions have created an intergalactic, interactive show which may or may not be your bag,
but is guaranteed to leave you thoroughly bamboozled. From the costumes, (highlights include
a milkable cow hoodie), to the projections (a webcam video of said cow) the production value
is delightfully lofi. The performance, however, is brilliantly polished and high-energy, and
although the whole affair seems like a 6-year-old’s fever dream, the actors seem to have a
gift whereby every single member of the audience has a great time.
Despite turning up to a kids’/ family show on my own, at 3.30pm on a Saturday, I found that I
couldn’t stop smiling. Whether that was the sprays of water, the Welsh voiceovers, the beard
fondling, or the carrot-brandishing, it’s impossible to say - but I had a blast. There are moments,
even, of unprecedented horror; witnessing the torture of a carrot with peelers of
various dimensions felt positively barbaric. I’m not sure I was fully prepared to question my
vegetarianism, but there we go. It’s safe to say that at times, the piece feels slightly
primary school play-esque, but it’s all part of the package. If you can get past questioning why this
show ever came into being, it’ll be fine.
couldn’t stop smiling. Whether that was the sprays of water, the Welsh voiceovers, the beard
fondling, or the carrot-brandishing, it’s impossible to say - but I had a blast. There are moments,
even, of unprecedented horror; witnessing the torture of a carrot with peelers of
various dimensions felt positively barbaric. I’m not sure I was fully prepared to question my
vegetarianism, but there we go. It’s safe to say that at times, the piece feels slightly
primary school play-esque, but it’s all part of the package. If you can get past questioning why this
show ever came into being, it’ll be fine.
This is a laugh. Take your kids - or take yourself.
See the show Sunday 16th Sept, 5.30pm, Old Town Hall
Written by Grace Spencer
The Disappearing Act - Persephone Theatre
Illusion, confusion, dissilusion indeed! I have to admit that I didn't at all know what to expect from The Disappearing Act (formerly titled Illusion and Reality, as you'll see in the festival programme) and yet somehow still managed to be surprised. What I'd assumed to be simply a quick introduction of the production from its one and only performer emerged, in fact, to be the performance itself, a genuinely insightful if but haphazardly structured monologue centring on man's incapacity to reconcile ancient ideals of hope, love, and identity with the emotionally divisive nature of the modern world. Such a world, this show recalls, that threw us reeling into despondency at the horror of the World Trade Centre tragedy, mere months after the dawn of a new millenium.
Truth be told, this production lends itself to more of a psychologically exploratory group therapy session than a conventional play as such, but its defining characteristic, vitally, was its being suffused with such sincerity and heart. Sure, I was more than slightly bewildered by the actor's emulation of a robed Native American deity addressing the whole of makind from a plush chair, but sharing my thoughts with the rest of the audience at the end of the show, I was overwhelmingly struck by there having been a shift of atmosphere somewhere along the line; in some small but irreversible way, I think we all felt a little more alive.
You can catch the show at the Imperial Hotel at 4:00pm, Sunday 16th September - and make sure to bring an open mind.
Written by Rowena Price.
Losing my Mindfulness - Katie McLeod
Losing my Mindfulness - Katie McLeod
I wasn’t expecting to have raisins thrown at me when I walked into The Subscription Rooms.
But then again, Katie McLeod, in character as a struggling and hysterical HR manager named Serena,
isn’t your average performer.
But then again, Katie McLeod, in character as a struggling and hysterical HR manager named Serena,
isn’t your average performer.
This was my second mindfulness-themed show of the day (thanks, Stroud), and I expected a cliched,
overdone, yoga-teacher-berating piece. McLeod’s show was none of those. Through the medium
of a corporate workshop, she navigates the topics of emotional abuse, toxic masculinity,
and financial issues with maturity and humour, all while interacting with the audience
genuinely and responsively. The whole show is high-energy and fast-paced, producing an
actual, genuine stress-induced adrenaline rush. It’s all quite invigorating.
overdone, yoga-teacher-berating piece. McLeod’s show was none of those. Through the medium
of a corporate workshop, she navigates the topics of emotional abuse, toxic masculinity,
and financial issues with maturity and humour, all while interacting with the audience
genuinely and responsively. The whole show is high-energy and fast-paced, producing an
actual, genuine stress-induced adrenaline rush. It’s all quite invigorating.
On occasion, it is unclear whether it is Katie or Serena talking, which leads to some fairly
unsettling moments of not knowing whether to follow instructions, laugh, or shut up. This constant
questioning of whether what’s happening is stand-up or a sketch, though, makes for an audience
which is even more engaged.
unsettling moments of not knowing whether to follow instructions, laugh, or shut up. This constant
questioning of whether what’s happening is stand-up or a sketch, though, makes for an audience
which is even more engaged.
All the way from the chewing-gum-centred starting sequence to the melodramatic end,
this show offers advice, instruction, and, most of all, a chance to recognise elements of yourself in
the trainwreck of a situation which unfolds.
See it if you get the chance - you won’t walk out mindful, but you won’t regret it either.
this show offers advice, instruction, and, most of all, a chance to recognise elements of yourself in
the trainwreck of a situation which unfolds.
See it if you get the chance - you won’t walk out mindful, but you won’t regret it either.
See the show on Saturday 15th Sept, 5.00pm, or Sunday 16th Sept, 7.00pm, The George Room
Written by Grace Spencer
Douglas - Cheese and Pickle Productions
Douglas - Cheese and Pickle Productions
‘Douglas’ is, put simply, completely brilliant. Detailing the journey of a Leicester cheese-loving,
Guardian-reading cat, and Simon, a boiler-suited man who is “not lonely, just desperate for a friend”,
this one-man show is a philosophical, comical, and downright barmy masterpiece.
Guardian-reading cat, and Simon, a boiler-suited man who is “not lonely, just desperate for a friend”,
this one-man show is a philosophical, comical, and downright barmy masterpiece.
Steven Tarr flits from demure foot-licking to camp sashaying throughout, demonstrating an impressive
command of the stage and the audience alike. The process of seeing an actor switch from cat to
human and back again is enjoyable enough, without the comedic gems thrown in there. (Particular
favourites include, “I’m a big fan of yoghurt”, and “Joanna Lumley is a fox”. Funnier in context, promise.)
Tarr’s (human) character Simon, lovably tragic and an outspoken Beyonce fan, is the best friend
that we all want, and his selective fourth-wall-breaking audience glaring makes for some irresistibly
funny moments.
command of the stage and the audience alike. The process of seeing an actor switch from cat to
human and back again is enjoyable enough, without the comedic gems thrown in there. (Particular
favourites include, “I’m a big fan of yoghurt”, and “Joanna Lumley is a fox”. Funnier in context, promise.)
Tarr’s (human) character Simon, lovably tragic and an outspoken Beyonce fan, is the best friend
that we all want, and his selective fourth-wall-breaking audience glaring makes for some irresistibly
funny moments.
It’s not all giggles though; there’s a harrowing reflection on bullying and emotional trauma at one
point, which somehow manages to be emotional and impactful without melodrama. Tarr
has a brilliant sense of pace and atmosphere, too - just as a surprisingly grisly murder scene
gets a little too intense, an interjection of ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ ensures everyone that
he isn’t taking himself too seriously.
point, which somehow manages to be emotional and impactful without melodrama. Tarr
has a brilliant sense of pace and atmosphere, too - just as a surprisingly grisly murder scene
gets a little too intense, an interjection of ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ ensures everyone that
he isn’t taking himself too seriously.
This show is one of those hard-to-come-by creations which, whilst appearing whimsical,
creeps up on an unsuspecting audience. As it progresses from Joanna Lumley and Big
Brother, it begins to offer genuine, hard-hitting truths, about life, guilt, and mental health. As for
what, where, and how these appear… you’ll have to visit Douglas and see.
creeps up on an unsuspecting audience. As it progresses from Joanna Lumley and Big
Brother, it begins to offer genuine, hard-hitting truths, about life, guilt, and mental health. As for
what, where, and how these appear… you’ll have to visit Douglas and see.
One night only (Friday 14th Sept, 8.00pm)
Written by Grace Spencer
And Breathe... - Blue Frog Theatre
And Breathe… - Blue Frog Theatre
Tai Chi leads to all kinds of epiphanies, but in Blue Frog Theatre’s latest show, they’re not what
the audience expects. In a cosy back room of The Imperial, a group of women stand silently, palms
turned outwards, ready to share their wisdom - or lack thereof.
the audience expects. In a cosy back room of The Imperial, a group of women stand silently, palms
turned outwards, ready to share their wisdom - or lack thereof.
Simply structured but brilliantly acted, ‘And Breathe…’ consists of a series of back-to-back
monologues, each delving into the psyche of a troubled villager. These are, for the most part,
entertaining - the audience delights in the trials and tribulations of one woman as she tries to
seduce the class instructor, nudge each other at the exclamations of the village’s resident gossip,
and relate painfully to the frankness and naivety of a young woman, unlucky in love and determined
to become a lesbian. One storyline in particular, the heart-wrenching blindness of a woman to her
husband's infidelity, seemed much more developed and sincere than the rest, and would have
held its own in a solo show. Not all of the storylines, however, are so engaging - the testimony of
a stressed-out school teacher, although catering well to a Stroud audience, feels one-dimensional,
and a mother struggling to keep up with her children's snide remarks, crop tops, and Whatsapp
addiction seems straight out of a satirical cartoon. Admittedly, though, that might just be me
speaking as a snarky teenager...
monologues, each delving into the psyche of a troubled villager. These are, for the most part,
entertaining - the audience delights in the trials and tribulations of one woman as she tries to
seduce the class instructor, nudge each other at the exclamations of the village’s resident gossip,
and relate painfully to the frankness and naivety of a young woman, unlucky in love and determined
to become a lesbian. One storyline in particular, the heart-wrenching blindness of a woman to her
husband's infidelity, seemed much more developed and sincere than the rest, and would have
held its own in a solo show. Not all of the storylines, however, are so engaging - the testimony of
a stressed-out school teacher, although catering well to a Stroud audience, feels one-dimensional,
and a mother struggling to keep up with her children's snide remarks, crop tops, and Whatsapp
addiction seems straight out of a satirical cartoon. Admittedly, though, that might just be me
speaking as a snarky teenager...
But that’s not to say that even these sections didn’t hold some appeal. Punctuating the
monologues with a few potentially questionable but benign jokes about complicated sexual
orientations ensured that the audience was fully engaged - if only to try to figure out whether,
politically, they should be laughing. All in all, ‘And Breathe…’ offers the audience a good,
old-fashioned chuckle - so head down to the local Tai Chi class and get cracking.
monologues with a few potentially questionable but benign jokes about complicated sexual
orientations ensured that the audience was fully engaged - if only to try to figure out whether,
politically, they should be laughing. All in all, ‘And Breathe…’ offers the audience a good,
old-fashioned chuckle - so head down to the local Tai Chi class and get cracking.
See the show on Saturday 15th Sept, 3.30pm, at The Imperial Hotel
Written by Grace Spencer
Tangletree - JDJB and TLBB Productions
Tangletree- JDJB Productions and TLBB Productions
“Am I dead?” is a fitting first line for a show that can only be described as intensely introspective.
In their painfully real reflection on brain injury, JDJB and TLBB Productions artfully bring together
toy monkeys, knitted shawls, and mimed record players to educate as well as to move.
In their painfully real reflection on brain injury, JDJB and TLBB Productions artfully bring together
toy monkeys, knitted shawls, and mimed record players to educate as well as to move.
This performance, overall, is an experience. The audience is informed, humbled, and made
intensely grateful, through genuine connection to what’s going on onstage. Perhaps this is
thanks to the obvious research that’s gone on behind the scenes - the blurb attests to “wide
research involving health professionals and people living with the outcomes of brain injury”. It
certainly pays off; expressions seem genuine and natural, and nuanced interactions evoke a sense
of real-life unreliability and idiosyncrasy.
intensely grateful, through genuine connection to what’s going on onstage. Perhaps this is
thanks to the obvious research that’s gone on behind the scenes - the blurb attests to “wide
research involving health professionals and people living with the outcomes of brain injury”. It
certainly pays off; expressions seem genuine and natural, and nuanced interactions evoke a sense
of real-life unreliability and idiosyncrasy.
Dramatic monologues, although wonderfully sincere and effective in moving the piece along,
follow a uniform back-and-forth and become repetitive. A slightly cliché soliloquy from the angsting
mother of a head-strong teen rears its head at one point, but due to the sheer magnitude of the
matter at hand, the audience is able to forgive her furtive knitting. Light relief from the rigours of
hospital-rooms and hysterics are provided by surreal sections, a particularly invigorating and
personal favourite of which featured a hot-pink hatted, slightly menacing carnival stall owner.
follow a uniform back-and-forth and become repetitive. A slightly cliché soliloquy from the angsting
mother of a head-strong teen rears its head at one point, but due to the sheer magnitude of the
matter at hand, the audience is able to forgive her furtive knitting. Light relief from the rigours of
hospital-rooms and hysterics are provided by surreal sections, a particularly invigorating and
personal favourite of which featured a hot-pink hatted, slightly menacing carnival stall owner.
The acting is brilliant, with the central character held constantly and unwaveringly,
whilst a second actress switches from mother, to nurse, to lecturer, and back to mother with
impressive agility. The lighting and sound design are impeccable, too; a switch-operated lighting
rig onstage creates a poignant rift between the actors at several points, and the larger stage
lighting is always perfectly timed. A rousing rendition of Massive Attack’s Karmacoma seems
slightly at odds to the overall vibe of the piece, but again, the rough is dished up with a generous
helping of the smooth.
whilst a second actress switches from mother, to nurse, to lecturer, and back to mother with
impressive agility. The lighting and sound design are impeccable, too; a switch-operated lighting
rig onstage creates a poignant rift between the actors at several points, and the larger stage
lighting is always perfectly timed. A rousing rendition of Massive Attack’s Karmacoma seems
slightly at odds to the overall vibe of the piece, but again, the rough is dished up with a generous
helping of the smooth.
See the show on Saturday 15th Sept, 8.00pm, or Sunday 16th Sept, 5.30pm, at The British School.
Written by Grace Spencer
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