Tom arrives at a rural farmhouse with the expectations of an uncomfortable but predictable encounter with his deceased partner’s family. His presence, though, unravels a long string of lies and secrecy stretching from William’s childhood into their relationship, right up until he died. Perhaps even more unexpected, though, is what Tom learns about himself deep in the muck of the farm.
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This review comes from Night Writes guest reviewer Gabriella Florek
Just as the title of Martin Crimp’s 1997 play can be interpreted in different ways by an innocent reader, the script itself is left open for the the artists involved in its staging. With little direction from the playwright as to how many actors should perform and who speaks the lines, making creative decisions becomes, arguably, an even more precarious task than usual.
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You know, sometimes, the best solution really is to kill the King. At least that’s what Ma and Pa Ubu have been convinced of by the Prime Minister of Pooland and his lackeys who need the King overthrown so they can make more money through their mining empire. What they didn’t anticipate was Pa Ubu caring even less for his fellow humans than they do.
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Every few years a movie gets released with a central gay character whose life is tragedy and whose story ends in a tear-jerking death. And every time this reignites a conversation about this seemingly inescapable link between queerness and death. Is it a curse from God? Is it unresolved trauma from the AIDS crisis? Is it pedestrian homophobia? Or is it true?
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Maybe if you watch a lot of British crime dramas then you’ve wondered to yourself how you would react if you were the person fated to discover a dead body. Or you’ve mused about how the “woman walking her dog” or “bicyclist” is doing now after their discovery aired on the nightly news. For one person, that moment was the end of the story, for everyone else, it’s the beginning.
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Life comes at you fast or, rather, if you’re already on the wrong side of things, the systems of “justice” and “fairness” will take your life away from you fast. Deep in the heart of those structures, it’s always easier, even preferable, to blame an individual rather than the circumstances.
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Apps like Tinder and Bumble and Hinge were supposed to make dating easier but the plethora of fish in the digital sea hasn’t resulted in Liv’s happily ever after. But the dire state of heterosexuality doesn’t stop a girl from dreaming, living vicariously through love ballads, or anthropomorphising her puppet pals as deadbeat exes, now, does it?
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How do we process grief? What is actually happening when we remember? What do our emotions look like? What do they sound like? In Pollon, the complex inner workings of grieving, living, and remembering are externalised in movement, ritual, and repetition for an experimental interpretation of the solo narrative performance.
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Edward “Eddie” Bernays made a name for himself in the 20th century as the “father of public relations” by mastering the art of propaganda. As he nears the end of his life, an interview for a forthcoming biography of his wife sends Eddie deep into his memories and the ghosts of his past make their grievances known.
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It seems that most days bring a new online article or news segment about the casualisation of the workforce, sky-rocketing house prices, stagnant wages, and general catastrophe for younger generations to navigate and establish a life in. Luckily for these two twenty-somethings, they’ve simply decided to not be stressed anymore.
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