Sea a Words offers concise hour-long monologue, which promises to be a double act, but is undermined by the absence of one partner. Taking on the form of a traditional seaside show, the production juggles with sharp parodies of old-fashioned comedy (and, in one brilliant sequence, the habit of serious theatre to stereotype young people in a spirited attempt at relevance) and an ongoing narrative about mental health problems. The charming – both theatrically and personally – protagonist tries to keep the show on the road but ultimately realises that his mother is beyond being jollied along. The final reveal is neither surprising nor devastating: it is the logical end to the shenanigans. The energy of the production comes from the comedy and wit rather than the implied tragedy.
Nevertheless, Sea Words is a good show for the fringe. It is short, has a sense of humour, plays with the scale of the venue, allowing the performer to show off their skills and entertain. It does not demand huge emotional investment or fall back heavily on real-life to justify its tragedy. In some ways, it is as old-fashioned as the shows it seeks to parody. It is well-made, well written and uses minimal sonography to great affect. And the jokes, which do tend to be predictable, are willing to play with their own stupidity.
This short dramatic form is ideal for the fringe because it allows the production to become part of a day of watching. Certain shows, which last for longer than an hour or demand intense responses due to their themes, become more difficult to enjoy during the FRinge. This is perhaps a larger question about the nature of Edinburgh in August. There are many shows especially in Summerhall, which speak of mighty contemporary events. Fishbowl, for example, takes another serious angle (dementia) and feels too heavy to be part of the smorgasbord of events. This is not to dismiss Fishbowl, but to question how the fringe frames individual works.
The individual review with a star rating is the standard process of critical engagement. It is not reflective of the fringe experience. Rather, shows are seen in groups of 2,3, 5, or 20. omparisons between events are inevitable and yet this is not reflected in the way in which the reviewer responds.
Now I shall leap to discuss Beasts. This is another monologue, this time exploding a narrative of female terror into a magic realism fantasy of revenge and justice. Set in the now familiar London of dark alleyways and predatory men, it emerges into African mythology as the protagonist transforms into a lion and enacts justice. Beginning with the language of the street and the playground and a survey of the gentrified city, it casts out into more fantastic territory. Memories of religious observance and the longing for a departed father are embodied by a lion deity who protects the community, before frightening the community. It addresses for serious concern and does this with grace and positivity. Perhaps the poetic language hides the horror of the predatory male and perhaps the dynamism of the performance represents confidence that is less of the streets and more of the theatre. Yet Beasts has the quality of a bravura demonstration of both factor and the writer integrating language and physical presence to comment on an underlying social evil without being dragged into pessimism.
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