Previously Published in The Skinny: The Wau Wau Sisters

The last time I saw a burlesque routine dealing with religion, it featured a simpering girl dressed up as a nun, unable to inhabit the power of the character and pandering to a cheering audience. If the Wau Wau Sisters don't offer a complete critique of Christianity in , their burlesque acrobatics scatter bullets at teenage chastity and its inherent pornographic fantasy, New Age paganism and the idea of burlesque itself.


In just under an hour, the Sisters terrify the audience, swing on a trapeze, sing country songs while balancing on each other, dress two audience members as satyrs, end up fully naked - as they point out, no commodification of the body in this show - and make the link between rough hewn live art and cabaret.

The Wau Waus refuse to bow to any sort of theatrical courtesy. Their aesthetic is immediate, ragged and vigorous. They are utterly fearles, whether engaging directly with the audience or tackling taboos. Unlike most burlesque, their talk of gender is no insipid fig-leaf for self-aggrandisement. Even better, they have a talent that doesn't just involve undressing and smiling at the audience.

Despite the mayhem and apparent aggression, The Last Supper is a funny, feel good show. The serious message, about embracing change and fearlessness, is expressed not through rhetoric but the ferocious pace. This might be a long way from the vaudeville tradition, and anyone hoping for cheap thrills will be disappointed when complacency receives a sharp slap.

Ten @ Zoo Roxy, 2011

FEATURE BY GARETH K VILE.
PUBLISHED IN THE SHIMMY

26 AUGUST 2011


Although its relationship to dance is not obviously apparent, Ten is a sincere and thoughtful meditation on the relationship between one man's Indian and British identities. Patel grew up feeling western, but a late fascination with Indian rhythm encouraged him to reconsider his heritage.

Enlisting two drummers - one from Scotland, and another from Africa via Barbados and Birmingham - Patel enjoys highlighting the complexities and humour within ideas about racial identity. The charisma of the three men, who banter and challenge each other, explain the difference between India's ten beat cycle and western pop's four to the floor pump, and cover themselves in red kanku, the cosmetic used for the Hindu "red dot" on the forehead. Somewhere between the tossing of powder, and the drummer's intrusions on Patel's speculations, Patel drags out his own conflicts and questions.

When Patel draws a contrast between a British "lineal" conception of the beat and the more cyclical nature of the Indian rhythm, he provides a structure to his musings that makes sense of his repetitions and casual style. He does not draw any conclusions about his identity, merely peruses possibilities: yet this open style allows Patel to be comfortable wearing both the Hindu dot and the George's Cross on his chest.

Charming, confident and consciously avoiding any bland statements about national identity, Ten may not be dance but it is a fascinating insight into one man's interior landscapes.