The sort of antics Tommy Sheridan certainly doesn't get up to

The sort of antics Tommy Sheridan certainly doesn't get up to

originally puublished in the skinny

FEATURE BY GARETH K VILE.

PUBLISHED 12 NOVEMBER 2006

The Arches and Tramway have opened their new seasons, and the Arches has stolen the initiative with a flurry of performances in their toilets. The 'Spend a Penny' programme consisted of eight original monologues, performed on rotation for a very limited audience at a bargain price. Tramway answered with a Danish dance company's exploration of the sort of antics Tommy Sheridan certainly doesn't get up to, and the unveiling of the Scottish National Ballet's commitment to a more experimental approach.

Hoachin' Stushie presented 'No Prior Thought' as part of the Arches' 'Fifteen Years, Two Fingers' celebration. Alongside the opening party, this managed to sum up both the dangers and excitement of avant-garde theatre. Using a bare set and three performers, they examined identity as a fragile mesh of fiction and consensual hallucination. The point was clearly made, the actors displayed impressive memories and stage-craft, and the implications lingered over the free cocktails. Still, the event itself felt clumsy and academic. Switching lamps on and off to signify 'awareness' is hardly original, and repetition of phrases and ideas becomes frustrating over an hour. The dank atmosphere of the venue always lends a patina of threat and alienation, but this could be used far more effectively. Even the dramatic central scene, when the characters build a false set of memories from their shared confusion (only to realise that the events they describe are mere illusions), seemed forced and blunt.

Ironically, the Arches' party suggested the weaknesses of the venue. After a rambling and intermittently amusing speech from founder and director Andy Arnold, a scene from an upcoming production was performed and lost behind a standing crowd of Glasgow's art scenesters. When the detritus of free food and drink was cleared away, the DJs demonstrated that the Arches is a superb club venue, especially on those occasions when its theatre is devoured by an uncomfortable audience. It was left to the witty Zugzwang, a monologue from Martin O'Connor transferred to the Q Gallery, to redeem its reputation.

Back on the Southside, 'To Come' choreographed five dancers through a series of sterile sexual acrobatics and an extended jazz work-out in a celebration and critique of modern morality. The joylessness of the apparently erotic poses was contrasted with the pure energy of the lindy-hopping, reminding the audience that sexuality is not a mere matter of conjoining bodies, but an ecstatic exchange of enthusiasm and energy. A week later, the Scottish ballet took their tentative steps into contemporary dance a little further. 

Knowing that a Glasgow audience could cope, they started their mixed programme with 'The Pump Room', a pas de quatre to music by the Aphex Twin. Retaining the strength and grace of classical ballet, the heavy score lent menace to the relatively conventional dancing. This strategy was reversed in the 'Artifact Suite'. Bach's solo violin 'Chacone' sound-tracked mechanical movement and awkward postures - a work simultaneously beautiful and sinister. If the evening lacked directness and clarity, it was approachable and satisfying: the sold-out shows demonstrate that there is a market for challenging dance in Scotland.

The next month brings us NeedCompany, and the conclusion of the Arches' autumn programme, including a preview of deadly clown Al Seed's new work. As Scotland explores the meanings of clearer political identity, its dancers are becoming an example of excellence to the world.

Theology and Marxism

'Good morning and welcome to Mini-Marxism with Gareth K Vile. Today we have Theodor Adorno on the couch, I mean the sofa, and we are going to be talking about Martin O'Connor's Theology. Good morning, Theo!'

'Good morning, Gareth. I think you have a few questions about how my theories can be used as critical tools?'

'Indeed I do. I hope that you don't feel that I am dismantling your systematic analysis of culture into a series of hammers and screwdrivers to fix up my paltry critiques of performance?'

'You so are, sister. You can't resist misrepresenting me due to your false consciousness.'

'Moving on... I have been pondering Martin O'Connor's Theology. Now, I have to admit that I am a fan of his work. His skill at manipulating language  - using Glaswegian slang as a poetic dialect - and compassionate attitude to this rough old city deserves respect. Beside this, having a crack at the role of religion in contemporary life is genuinely bold. He could have got excommunicated for cheeking the Catholic Church.'

'Or got a kicking off the Rangers fans. It shows how religion has become a control mechanism, than even an even-tempered, careful and witty take on the Mass could lead to spiritual isolation and physical violence.'

'Apart from a few complaints about the homily - it felt a bit sketchy - I loved part 1 of Theology. The choir has a real Gregorian dourness, which makes the lyrics all the funnier. And the dwindling of religious meaning expressed in the call and response is framed eloquently by the imitation of a recognisable ritual structure.'

'Clearly, O'Connor identifies how religious belief, rather than being an inspiration, has become commodified. Throughout, O'Connor expresses an alienation from his childhood faith, and struggles to make sense of the
traces it has left in his philosophy of life.'

'Part 2 is a more complicated experience, however. He goes through some of his classic poems - it is like his greatest hits - set to a soundscape. It's called Govan of the Mind and exposes the frustration - the alienation if you will - of Govan and its residents. It reminds me of slam poetry, O'Connor spitting out lyrics like a rapper.'

'It sounds rather like those nostalgia tours bands do, when they do their new stuff, and a favourite album in full. A mix of past glories and classic tracks. I detect a certain commodification of O'Connor's poetry, here: repackaged and recognisable.'

'It is brilliant, but mainly because O'Connor drops the science at a fair rate. It is a marvellous performance, and the soundscape is deliciously disorientating. It lends his words a new, almost sinister atmosphere.'

'Ah, I see your problem... you are disqualified from critiquing by your own rules! He is infringing on your own art, the post-visual theatre!'

'That is one reason why I invited you along today, Theo. Also, I'd like to say that I set O'Connor's poetry to music ages ago, on the Radio Hour.'

'I don't think you can claim to have invented sound collage. However, I think I see your problem. In part 1, O'Connor offers his audience a critical discussion of religion - especially Catholic - that is ambiguous enough to allow the Christian and the atheist enough to interpret it on their own terms. It is passionate and precise, but is an 'open' performance, provoking discussion.'

'The appreciation of an audience whose sociation and life-world projects resonate with the aesthetic project of the artist, and who can achieve a degree of self-understanding through art, you  might say.'

'I think perhaps Robert Witkin would put it like that. On page 75.'

'Part 1 makes a community of performers and audience, then? They share the experience. The use of the Mass is a pretty smart move. The very structure of the work echoes the theme.'

'Even if O'Connor is anxious about the nature of religion's influence, he recognises it as a binding force.'

'I like part 2 in itself, but had problems with it in relation to part 1.'

'Perhaps you'd care to cut and paste a touch more of Witkin?'

'The enthusiastic appreciation by an audience for whom no such connection exists between the artist's aesthetic projects and their own, and who surrender to the implosive effects of art upon a de-sociated (reified) consciousness?'

'Good boy. Now look up reified...'

'In other words, I am not so connected to O'Connor's vision of Govan? Then it is my fault?'

'Not entirely. The artist can make dramaturgical choices to include his audience, and not just impress them with his skills. Like he did in part 1. '

'But artist and critic do make meaning together - so this is partially my problem?'

'Ah, I am a modernist, my friend. Not a conversation for Mini-Marxism but Peeking at Post-Modernism (with Michel Foucault). 

O'Connor and Theology

Martin O'Connor remains one of Scotland's most gifted writers. As he demonstrates in Theology part 2: A Govan of the Mind, he can polish Glaswegian dialect into evocative poetry without losing its essential roughness. His fierce wit and literary intelligence allows him to parody the mass and take on big issues, like sectarianism or urban decay: never slipping into sentimentality or impatient reformism, he imbues his scripts with compassion and dramatic tension.

Theology is a two part study of the 'place of religion in Glasgow today': in part 1, he cleverly recasts the Mass as a commentary on how Papal visits, the name of The Lord and cultural identity have gradually lost their spiritual dimension. The Pope is mistaken for a celebrity singer, football fans remember their allegiances only for fighting, and Jesus is called upon not in pious prayer but blasphemous desperation. By using a choir to sing his poems, O'Connor conjures the sanctity of the Mass alongside a lairy belligerence. When he takes to the pulpit to pray or read the Gospel, he reveals the fragmented, distorted remains of Christianity that inform and infect his understanding of daily life.

Turning tales of the apostles into stand-up routines, he connects to the proud tradition of Christian artists re-imagining The Bible in their own times: the tension between a secular outlook and spiritual longing is tantalising and tense. Yet O'Connor is quick to laugh, sending up the pomposity of religious moral teachings and his own doubts. It's only when he describes the detail of the Mass (in his normal voice), or tries to give a homily on recent newspaper articles that he slips out of character and loses focus.

Eventually, he sends the choir on their way, and goes solo in part 2. This is a soundscape with live poetry, a mash-up of O'Connor's previous work. He rattles out his 'greatest hits' - sketches of conversations or monologues that bring to life characters found around Govan - and offers a few thoughts on Govan's disintegration. Visually, this is weak (O'Connor is charismatic, but the lighting design here is poor, especially the attempt to have flashing lights at a dramatic moment), while Nichola Scrutton's sound design is an ambitious ambient yet engaging score that lends the words a dark subtext. Humour and tragedy are side by side.

Unfortunately, parts 1 and parts 2 do not enrich each other: part 2 may imitate the Novena, but lacks the spiritual investigation of part 1, feeling like a separate performance. The contrast between the community and the lone poet is too broad and the narrative arc lent by the Mass structure is squandered in part 2's more impressionistic selections.

Theology: part 1 is a profound commentary on how religion, although lost, remains influential and an occult aspect of human identity, stopping off to make swipes at its use as an excuse for Old Firm ruckus. The lightness of touch, and satirical bite, are O'Connor trademarks, and he twists dialect into eloquent forms. While part 2 contains adventurous use of sound and many excellent individual poems, its energy is too diffuse and distracts from O'Connor's skill.