Us/Them

Our first play of the year came a little later than usual but on Tuesday 7th Feb we travelled to the Dorfman at the National Theatre to see 60mins of 'Us/Them'.

My Theatre Mates

A family friendly show about a terror attack - doesn't quite add up when you think about it does it? But the more you do, the more you realise that Carly Wijs' direction might just be genius. All too often when we retell moments of our past, we embellish and adapt - particularly when we are children - my nearly-3-yr-old niece would of course deny this entirely.
But when children witness traumatic events, how much of it sinks in? How much do they let it? Kids are more resilient than we think, but they're also like sponges, they take in the world at a rate that dizzies us as adults. So what if, in a place they all feel safe, like at school, they endure something terrible?

National Theatre

Us/Them is directed in a way that addresses this. As we begin with chalk drawings of the school's layout, a competition of information between our two leads and some essential facts to present the provenance of our piece, we are slowly lulled into a comedic security, brimming with innocence.

However, as the piece unfolds we are pulled ever closer to the truth, the REAL terror attack on these young children on a day that held them captive for 52hrs, killing 184 children and 148 adults. But we never really get there, the truth. The truth remains suspended in the well constructed strings that span the stage amidst a maze of conclusions and childhood storytelling.

The Stage

Our leads are enthusiastic and convincing in their confidence, as well as in their coyness. As they traverse the stage energetically, we are drawn to them even if we never really know much about who they are. Chalk drawings and imaginative commentary provide the basis of the all-too-familiar 'Us and Them' argument, with seemingly no understanding of why 'they' are 'them'  and'we' are 'us' - or of why they are being held hostage in their own school.

As a family show, Us/Them definitely helps broach the subject of death in the family if you don't have a pet that's likely to kick-the-bucket anytime soon. But it's also a fun show that incorporates dance with energy that never really allows for sombreness or pain in a concentrated quantity. It's full of imagination, both in script and staging but it's story holds a truth that makes it as devastating as it is entertaining - that is if you take a moment to Google the Beslan Massacre.

Exeunt Magazine

Read more about the production and the real event here: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/review-usthem-dorfman-national-theatre-london-the-story-of-beslan-makes-for-a-remarkable-harrowing-a7539296.html

href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beslan_school_siege">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beslan_school_siege

Collabo

Yesterday night, my friend invited me to celebrate 10yrs of East London Dance at Stratford Circus event, 'Collabo'. It was an evening of live interpretations, collaborations, hybrids and even Jade Hackett's brilliant #dancemarch film. It explored everything from deepest fears, to passing stories through generations and a brilliant duet 'Musiac' in which the dancers seemed to transform into music themselves.



It was a night that gave voice to what dance can do, that inspired energy and expression and even left me attempting to express myself as I got back to a lamplit flat. Here's the nonsense that tumbled out my brain...

Underground
Does it ever feel like, the world's run rife with pain,

And whe'er you look you see the city's blood freeze cold again,

And savaged saints are running wild, tear strips from one another,

Friends turn on friends in protest of their hate upon 'the other'?

Do you ever see a world beyond the smog that skies may shatter,

A world where lives are precious metal, raised above the chatter?

The noise of man so in demand so overwhelming and

The sand of time, runs right through hands clutched hold of distant foreign lands

Is this sensational idea worth man's life or two?

A man pry eyed, widening divides, that trap me against you,

Rhythm ensues, power rises, within this golden Trojan,

Be not mistook, for where you look, I stand among the chosen

We spill our blood at money men on glass eyed plinths of steel,

Ask, arms outstretched if a greed-filled globe can be a beast less real,

We plead our dreams are silent in a city bright with flame

Of innocence shunned and blunted, among corrupted ideas of fame

Well amongst our concrete shields I raise my arms, as my heart wrote,

I clear my throat for this heist of heaven, of words aloft, afloat,

And biceps scarred, release themselves from tension, hate and noise.

I hear the cherubs sing and men on men retreat their poise

My poison slain, heart beats again, its hands pummel at my breast,

And now this smothered city sick of noise begins its rest,

For a world brimmed bold with pain regains the love it once did feel,

For moments shared with people, nothing cold, no lies, just real.

Tamed tentacled technology weeps, as man's flawed fingertips

Take hold of wonder, taste their tears and brandish softened lips,

We, the shadows, the mirrors of time, claim silence as our own,

We clasp our hands, signal the strays and dance our reflections home, 

The gales of gluttony whisper as they seek the sense of sound,

As stifled sobs much louder burst, erupt through cracking ground,

On this our night, this concrete cave fills dark with echoes of life,

Breeding deep within the city sick. Calling always to you, and to I.


We forget ourselves too often in a world consumed by social media, by money, by fabricated versions of ourselves. I didn't realise how angry I was at how it stifles us until I wrote this. I might not be able to dance but you don't need to, to be inspired by an event like Collabo. Here's to 10 years and gone and the many more to come!

Stories We Tell

I'm still not quite sure what to make of Stories We Tell. It was sold to me as an award-winning attractive-looking film with a profound message about family and I'm not completely convinced that this is what I found.

Perhaps the biggest hindrance for me was the absence of any description as to who each contributor was. All that we as an audience are given, is a single name which does not help us at all when trying to discover the relationships between the people featured. I realised why this was necessary towards the end of the film but I feel that it made it quite hard to follow in the early stages. There are still two female contributors I have no idea about.

Michael Polley

The two different filming locations of Michael Polley, our director's father, did not help us out either. In both shots, one in recording studio and another at the kitchen table, he looked completely different and it took me a good 40mins to decide that it was in fact the same man. So for a long while I was sat thinking to myself, 'how many dads does this girl have?'.

From confusion to illusion - I am also undecided on the effectiveness of "archive" within the film. The recreation of the past, to create a visual version of the mother we never get to meet, is almost a little too fabricated. There are moments where we believe that it's real, with her mother applying make-up in the mirror and winking to the camera etc. Here, the illusion works.

Michael Polley

However, the recreation of those defining moments, like when Harry tells Sarah that he is in fact, her father, just seemed false. We cannot recreate our instinctive reactions to these moments and I would much rather have looked into the eyes of Sarah or Harry retelling the story. The same is so for when Sarah tells this information to her father, Michael, I would much rather have witnessed his own raw emotions in telling the story, than seeing it falsely replicated. I wanted to see what it meant to him to see the daughter he'd raised, become the daughter of another man.

Despite this, the behind the scenes shots and recreated reels of the past were attractive in style, filmed in 16mm film and upholding the quirky, showbiz edge that seemed to so deeply define their mother. I was just not completely sure about the use of them all within the same documentary.

Sarah Polley & biological father Harry

It is hard to condemn the film completely, although we aren't quite sure whose documentary this is, whose story it's telling, it does hold some quality. It holds some messages that we can relate to. For example, when Michael tells Sarah that it does not matter if she is not biologically his, he still loves her. It remind us all that family is not necessarily the ones that share our DNA, it's not that simple. There is more to family than blood.

Sarah Polley - writer/director

We watch a family held together by the memory of their mother and the stories that they tell about are the things that keep her memory alive - that at least comes through in the documentary. Director Sarah Polley encourages a candid response from her contributors but in this almost disengages them from the raw emotion of each revelation. I felt a little let-down that I did not get to witness these revelations first hand and instead watched a reconstruction of that scene, albeit filmed attractively. I wanted to see them being cheated, being loved, feeling loss and only once was I given this opportunity. It's all very well putting on a brave face, stiff upper lip and all that, but it did not make for a particularly compelling story.

Overall, I suppose I like the way the film made me think and I suppose, I respect its ambition in defying genre as a documentary. It may not have been the beautiful story I envisaged but it tried and succeeded in many other areas. The soundtrack was well-chosen and story an engaging one at times. It is just a shame that most of my concentration went on working out who was who and why no-one seemed to care that at least three men had slept with our leading lady at the same time. I'm aware that my opinion is a rare one and many behold Stories We Tell as a masterpiece of its time. I'd like to say I too found a profound message about family within the film, I just happen to disagree.

A Burning Dream

Are you an escapist? A socialist? All for freedom of expression? Then 'A Burning Dream' is a film worth watching - although perhaps not if you are a long term sufferer of acute wanderlust, as I am.

It's not the first documentary that's explored the Burning Man Festival but it was almost enough for me to book my tickets to Nevada and never look back. It follows the experiences of Massimiliano Davoli, who on the death of his best friend , discovered £10,000 in an envelope on the street. The debate over whether it was moral or not to keep it is almost irrelevant as he embarks upon a journey that transforms his way of thinking and ours alike. 

In a journey from Rome to London (where people turn their back on answering what it means to be Londoner) on to San Francisco, Massimiliano finally rests in Nevada at The Burning Man Festival. Here, a wonder we all wish to behold is presented as a haven for all of us free-thinking hippies. Black Rock City is hive of creativity and togetherness against a backdrop of a desert that seems to stretch for miles.

abcnews.go.com

At first I wasn't entirely sure what to make of the film, unsure of what our presenter set out to find, but soon enough, it unfolded into a beautiful journey of self-discovery for both contributors and audience. As he drives blind through the stormy sand dunes of the desert and as dust settles on the sunrise, we are bombarded with a huge 60,000 people celebrating in costumes, face paint, dancing, singing, meditating and wholly embracing togetherness.

It's fresh because we aren't diving in to the festival, it's not a film about that. It's a film about finding yourself, about seeing things that aren't normal for you and about asking questions and meeting people you perhaps would never talk to on the street. This is what makes it relevant to any audience. Massimiliano is a little awed at the festival and finds it more difficult to embrace its culture than the 'regulars'. His own personal discovery and the process of just letting go, is what makes this film so charming.

There isn't a lot I can say about the camerawork, I mean the camera goes through so many sandstorms I don't know how they actually filmed anything at all. But the story, whether it was ever intended to be a documentary or just a personal film, turned out to be one that resonated with me and I feel that it would with many others. The height of the film, when Massimiliano writes a note to his deceased friend, the film feels to have come full circle.

I want to watch it again and again. The credits rolled and left me feeling fulfilled, at peace and ready to take on the world with a new perspective. The voiceover and narration would normally seem too much, a little indulgent but it's the burning Man Festival, it's what it's all about. It help that it comes in a French accent though, I don't think a Londoner would get away with the same script.

If the film is released into the public realm, you should certainly devote an hour to watching it. Even if it's just to listen to the French poetry and to watch some free-willed people dance naked through the fire. Here's a sample of what you'd be getting:


And here's the Trailer: