So it Goes...

I had originally planned to spend the afternoon with a friend but with his final get-out calling to him I found other ways to entertain myself instead. Carting around my suitcase and two bags I power-walked from the infirmary to the Underbelly to catch the well-reviewed show, 'So It Goes'.

edinburghshowcase.britishcouncil.org

Family seemed to be a running theme with all of the shows I managed to see this year but in this one in particular, we were thrust into a world of family relationships that seemed all too familiar. The piece is based on a story following the journey of Hannah, mourning the death of her father. As she struggles to speak about her grief in the 7yrs that follow, she instead turns her focus to moping on the sofa and nights out on the town until finally she finds a way back to her mother. It was the second show I caught at the Fringe this year to avoid speech entirely, leaving a magnified emphasis on the visuals - which were bursting with originality and symbolic of the inability to see black and white at times of emotional difficulty.

incomingfestival.com

Facial expressions were at their best in this one, there was plenty of energy despite the subject matter and lack of dialogue. The show also featured lots (And lots) of whiteboards as important parts of the story were written for the audience to see - allowing us into our protagonist's world (and I applaud them on managing to write upside down)!

theartsdesk.com

We were drawn in with a high energy beginning, with enactments of memories of dad running everywhere, to work, to the shop, around the park. Dad loved to run. And our girl loved dad.

Line drawings were a huge part of the character of this show. Not only did it act to aid scene changes, explain narrative or act as scenery - it also had a kind of symbolic nature, representing the many childlike emotions that can present post-trauma. There was also something harrowing about seeing the solitary word 'cancer' written on one of the cards aided by an x-Ray like drawing of dad's insides. Despite the impact of the negative, these drawings also suggested a childish quality in our characters that gave them life and enabled us to really feel sympathy for them.

eastendreview.co.uk

I particularly enjoyed the club scene, with buckets of energy from our two actors (and buckets to catch the amount of sweat produced too), and with line drawings to represent the crowd and drinks - it was as clever visually as it was emotionally climatic. This was the moment for me that made the most sense when it comes to mourning - as we turn our energy to losing our minds and finesse the art of distraction. It's a routine I've practiced and one I could really connect with.

So it Goes... was brutally powerful. I am very much a woman of words and I find it much easier to write them down, rather than share them with anybody out loud. The show was a perfect embodiment of grief, of memory and of moving on. It was warm, it was fragile and it was human, which made it a hit at the Fringe this year and I hope on bigger stages to follow.

Find out more about the story behind the show here: http://www.ontheruntheatre.co.uk/#!current-production/cb3i

Dreams of A Life

We all dream of that life we wished we'd have led, we all dream of becoming someone better, or wealthier, but film-maker Carol Morley takes that dream one step further. She assumes the dream of Joyce Carol Vincent, a lady found dead in her flat having laid there for three whole years. Morley turns this hopelessly sad situation into a film about a young woman with lots of friends and lots of dreams, with vibrancy and life seeping through the screen.

production-designer.co.uk

campfilms.co.uk

It is at heart, an art-film with an essence of docudrama to fill in the gaps of Joyce's story where there is no record. We do not meet her family. We do not know the whole story. In fact, there is a total lack of any solid evidence of how Joyce spent her time and how troubled she really was. Yet, amidst such a lack of information about her, we are presented with a film that is full of character and one that acts as a respectful memorial to her life.

Carol Morley 's affection for the story is evident in her production. The careful casting of the beautiful Zawe Ashton and the genuine shock of the contributors we meet along the way, on hearing about Joyce's fate almost draw us to keep watching. We want to know what they wish to know, how this beautiful, apparently life-loving girl, came to be forgotten.

madman.com.au

moviemail.com

cineplex.com

The aesthetics were perfect - shadowed rooms in which Joyce always carried a glow. SFX of dripping taps and old 80s music adding character even to stone walls. We have all had moments in our lives where we pretend to be happy, where we tell others (and ourselves) that we are fine, but there is a deep wound that Joyce was hiding and although we're never quite sure which of her experiences hurt her most, we cannot tear our eyes away from trying to work it out. We watch her miming to her beautiful reflection in the mirror, we hear recordings of her singing. Joyce is living and breathing in the film, without ever actually being there. As an audience we want to save her, to reach into the screen and to be her friend, for the story not to be real. We want her to be remembered and Morley in this, does beautifully. 

We find ourselves stunningly moved by a news article that we may have perhaps glanced over before. Suddenly the story is a life, and the life is one we care about.

theartsdesk.com

I can't say much more, but the intimate and tragically beautiful dramatisation of Vincent's life, carried by the painful interviews of those who knew her, is just a wonderful and respectful memorial, to a young woman who met with tragedy. It is one of the most incredible factual films I've seen in the last few years, particularly surprising as there is, as the situation suggests, a significant lack of fact. I feel as though we pay our respects to Joyce and many others like her we will never know about, when we watch this film.

Joyce Carole Vincent