Three Stories
I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor in the Mac. Its not some sort of passive resistance - I'm here to see a show and the only other option was a stool and that wasn't going to happen - gravity has bullied me too many times in the past, so I try to avoid confrontations. I cross the road when I see gravity coming.
So I'm on the floor in the lotus position scribbling furtively in the darkness as I have done so many times before. The show is Three's Theatre Company's "Three Stories", a devised piece of physical theatre. The piece was apparently created in just three days and then three writers were invited to write three narratives to accompany the piece. There is something of the Tinderbox about the vibrancy and elasticity of tonight's show and, after a cursory glance at the programme notes, I'm not surprised to see that all three performers were participants in Tinderbox' "Play Machine."
I've dipped into a fishbowl in the foyer and pulled out a bit of Christmas decoration: meaning I have plumped for Colm G Doran's "Connection". I'm cognisant of the fact I'm reviewing only a third of the possible narratives. Three's Theatre specialise in what they call "choice theatre", where some random factor introduced to proceedings determines which show you see. It makes reviewing it peculiar proposition: you have a one in three chance of seeing the same play as me.
"What is a memory? A comic strip? Your best bits? Why can't you choose what to remember?"
The audience in their glowing headphones look like bio-luminescent frogs gathered around the watering hole. I become aware that only the performers will be able to hear the rustling sound of my notebook as I scribble and turn pages. I attempt to write quietly.
The performers: Anna Leckey, Aimee Montgomery and Michael Bingham, exhibit extraordinary control and stamina during the show - on occasion I'm reminded of the back-breaking pyrotechnics of Ken Russell's "The Devils", as they bend themselves into hoops, or hyper-extend, their bodies describing deep, inky shadows.
There are Egon Schiele poses against the stark white light, exaggerated and grotesque. Something of silent cinema here. Backs are tiger-striped under bare lamps.
"You crave connection. Its a life long addiction. Terminal."
The dance is complicated and precise with extraordinary attention to detail. It seems remarkable that they have built something as nuanced and flowing as this in just three days. It is richly polished work.
In my headphones the voices change, distort, echo. There are different voices now: this is a universal story, we are eavesdropping on the human condition, reduced to its starkest need: to be with someone. It is a hauntological exercise, the narrative lapping in and out, memories fading and corrupting. The darkness takes hold of you and you focus on the bodies of the dancers, on the flickering shadows, the noise of people speaking retreating to a burble, waves over shingle, and then suddenly a phrase will cut through: sculpted, pared. Doran is a strong writer who can keenly shape a phrase. Moments arrest you. The words slip away and you're back watching the bodies work out their frustrated narratives in endless troilistic exchange; coming together and separating like bubbles in a lava lamp.
This is an extraordinary challenge for a writer and Doran deals very sensibly with it. While the free-floating truisms can occasionally sound like aspirational memes, more often than not he nails it with simple, spare effective language:
"We all need the something to keep us going. Mine was you."
And occasionally the dialogue and movement fuse at a single thrilling point: as an artist talks about his struggles the performer battles with her own thumb, that eternal artistic measure of proportion against a distant horizon. It works brilliantly - I want to punch the air.
Obviously I don't. It would be off-putting for all concerned.
Ideally - and with fiscal canniness - the company would like you to see all three narratives; it is called "Three Stories" after all, and I am curious to see Mary Jordan's "As Good As A Fish" and Ciaran Haggarty's "Seagull". But even taken as a single narrative this immersive piece plays with story-telling, it plays with a human being's pareidoiliac predisposition to attach signs and symbols to things, to constantly be searching for a narrative. And Three Stories does this beautifully.
So I'm on the floor in the lotus position scribbling furtively in the darkness as I have done so many times before. The show is Three's Theatre Company's "Three Stories", a devised piece of physical theatre. The piece was apparently created in just three days and then three writers were invited to write three narratives to accompany the piece. There is something of the Tinderbox about the vibrancy and elasticity of tonight's show and, after a cursory glance at the programme notes, I'm not surprised to see that all three performers were participants in Tinderbox' "Play Machine."
I've dipped into a fishbowl in the foyer and pulled out a bit of Christmas decoration: meaning I have plumped for Colm G Doran's "Connection". I'm cognisant of the fact I'm reviewing only a third of the possible narratives. Three's Theatre specialise in what they call "choice theatre", where some random factor introduced to proceedings determines which show you see. It makes reviewing it peculiar proposition: you have a one in three chance of seeing the same play as me.
"What is a memory? A comic strip? Your best bits? Why can't you choose what to remember?"
The audience in their glowing headphones look like bio-luminescent frogs gathered around the watering hole. I become aware that only the performers will be able to hear the rustling sound of my notebook as I scribble and turn pages. I attempt to write quietly.
The performers: Anna Leckey, Aimee Montgomery and Michael Bingham, exhibit extraordinary control and stamina during the show - on occasion I'm reminded of the back-breaking pyrotechnics of Ken Russell's "The Devils", as they bend themselves into hoops, or hyper-extend, their bodies describing deep, inky shadows.
There are Egon Schiele poses against the stark white light, exaggerated and grotesque. Something of silent cinema here. Backs are tiger-striped under bare lamps.
"You crave connection. Its a life long addiction. Terminal."
The dance is complicated and precise with extraordinary attention to detail. It seems remarkable that they have built something as nuanced and flowing as this in just three days. It is richly polished work.
In my headphones the voices change, distort, echo. There are different voices now: this is a universal story, we are eavesdropping on the human condition, reduced to its starkest need: to be with someone. It is a hauntological exercise, the narrative lapping in and out, memories fading and corrupting. The darkness takes hold of you and you focus on the bodies of the dancers, on the flickering shadows, the noise of people speaking retreating to a burble, waves over shingle, and then suddenly a phrase will cut through: sculpted, pared. Doran is a strong writer who can keenly shape a phrase. Moments arrest you. The words slip away and you're back watching the bodies work out their frustrated narratives in endless troilistic exchange; coming together and separating like bubbles in a lava lamp.
This is an extraordinary challenge for a writer and Doran deals very sensibly with it. While the free-floating truisms can occasionally sound like aspirational memes, more often than not he nails it with simple, spare effective language:
"We all need the something to keep us going. Mine was you."
And occasionally the dialogue and movement fuse at a single thrilling point: as an artist talks about his struggles the performer battles with her own thumb, that eternal artistic measure of proportion against a distant horizon. It works brilliantly - I want to punch the air.
Obviously I don't. It would be off-putting for all concerned.
Ideally - and with fiscal canniness - the company would like you to see all three narratives; it is called "Three Stories" after all, and I am curious to see Mary Jordan's "As Good As A Fish" and Ciaran Haggarty's "Seagull". But even taken as a single narrative this immersive piece plays with story-telling, it plays with a human being's pareidoiliac predisposition to attach signs and symbols to things, to constantly be searching for a narrative. And Three Stories does this beautifully.
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