Ten Plagues @ Traverse, Fringe 2011

One man, one piano, one vision

It’s a shame that writer Mark Ravenhill is adamant in his introduction to Ten Plagues that he wrote the libretto with Mark Almond in mind as the solo singer: Almond’s performance is the weakest aspect in a production that cleverly adapts a narrative about London’s black death into a worthy metaphor for any curse befalling a city. Almond’s star quality – evident as far back as his iconic appearance on Top of the Pops as part of Soft Cell – is not enough to hide his voice’s limited range and character, and while he revels in the lighter moments, he fails to capture the more hysterical, operatic sequences.

Director and designer Stewart Laing gives Ten Plagues an agitated energy. Opting for a sparse set, he allows Almond plenty of space to inhabit, and the subtle touches of video intensify the lonely isolation of the man adrift in a city of plague. Almond is at his best in the intimate numbers, remembering a lover or guilty enjoying the extravagance of a wig, and the finale, when his voice is joined by a chorus in the audience, makes the finale a melancholic celebration of survival.

Ravenhill’s words are a poetic evocation of the paranoia, selfishness and anxiety that grips a mind in the thrall of terror: the singer is lost in a city populated by the sick, dead and frightened. Without trying to justify the behaviour of a man who is simply trying to survive, Ravenhill demonstrates a profound compassion for the victims of the Black Death and, by extension, any urban horror. A descriptions of a trip to the fish-market, replete with period detail, becomes a vivid adventure into the heart of terror, resonate of both early responses to HIV and even contemporary anguish around financial disorder.

Almond is solid, but not remarkable, robbing the production of immediacy and high drama: Laing opts for an understated meditation and a triumphant end, suiting the undertow of Ravenhill’s writing and keeping Almond’s ability unexposed. Yet in avoiding the more rabid analysis of the plague, this vision of hell is a subtle reflection rather than a provocation.

Bluemouth: another repeat from 2011

DANCE MARATHON is an interactive, duration-based performance event inspired by the physically gruelling spectator sport from Depression-Era North America. It’s a genuine endurance contest and staged performance event where hopeful amateurs mix with bluemouth inc. performers under the direction of floor judges and the merciless movement of the clock to shape participation theatre.

It came to the Traverse for the Fringe in 2011. This is the transcript of an interview I did with the company at the time for The Shimmy. Here's the article, then the chat.

The rumour is that Dance Marathon represents something original - David Greig, himself  impressing the Fringe with The Strange Undoing of Prudentia Hart - has said that it willl "set fire to young audiences, new audiences, old audiences, party people and intellectuals." Video footage reveals expressive solo dances; reviews comment on the mixing of monologue and movement. References to the bleak depression-era set movie They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, which made dance contests a allegory of the despair within hope, mentions of a history of dance music, hints of a live band: Bluemouth Inc slip between genres and make the link between social and stage dance.

The company describe the work in ways that intrigue rather than clarify. "Image, sound and movement are equal in value to the words," they insist. "There are a number of layers of engagement and what you take away from it ultimately depends on what you are looking for or need as a spectator." And despite an imbedded narrative line, there is space for nightly change. "There are spotlights from other dancers, musicians and comedians performing in and around the Fringe . And who knows what Unexpected Guest may show up?"

But is there a story? “Yes, there is a narrative if you are looking for it,” they respond. “If you are looking for a dance party, it is there and that is what you will experience. We have live music, a bar, video projections and number of different competitions though out the evening.”

Bluemouth Inc have been fascinated by “durational” work – the fancy word for long  - and the site-specific. The company admit that there has been rigour in their research  - “we have used the original dance marathons as a template for our show. The embedded performers, the feelings of competition, the rest periods, guest celebrities and derby races to name a few” – and that era resonates now: “There were also a number of historical parallels between the world economy during the depression and the current housing and financial crisis in North America.”

Dance Marathon is a fine example of how the Fringe can enable – by addressing a large potential audience – work that would otherwise never get to Scotland. It’s long, so good value for money. It has a bar, so dancing is made easier. It has a plot, choreography, competitions and the chance to seduce other members of the audience between then set-pieces. It’s probably sold out already.

Where did the inspiration start for this show?
We had been working on duration based work for awhile now. One of our previous piece entitled SOMETHING ABOUT A RIVER, inspired by T.S. Eliot's poem The Waste Land, consisted of 3 parts which took place a different locations along a buried creek in Toronto called the Garrison Creek. This piece was 5 hours long and the audience traveled between locations in a school bus. The last section called of this triptych was called WHAT THE THUNDER SAID and took place in an abandoned warehouse at the base of the creek. At one point in the show we lined the entire audience up and picked teams for a softball game. Half the audience took the field while the other half of the audience got up to bat. The image meant to explored the anxiety one experiences when being picked last to participate in team sports.

The experiment was a huge leap for us as company in terms of our experiments in audience engagement. When we started working on DANCE MARATHON we discussed what it would be like to take that softball game moment and extend it to encompass an entire show. So we are not merely implementing them within the theatrical image, but actually giving the audience a meaningful and functional task within the piece.

Does it have a script?
No we don't work with a script. The pieces we create are collectively created and devised. Image, sound and movement are equal in value to the words. We rather refer to the written documentation of the work as a Performance Text. Its more a map or a score than it is a script.

Is it improvised, or is there any narrative at all?
Yes there is a narrative if you are looking for it. There are a number of layers of engagement to DANCE MARATHON and what you take away from it ultimately depends on what you are looking for or need as a spectator. If for example you are looking for a dance party, it is there and that is what you will experience. We have live music, a bar, video projections and number of different competitions though out the evening. However, if you are looking for a more rigorous theatrical through line, that is there as well nestled within the frame of the marathon competition. Their are characters embedded with in the performance who reveal themselves from time to time as the evening progresses and who knows one of them might even be your actual dance partner. There are intentionally Darwinian overtones to the entire experience, but again those tones are more or less obvious depending on how you choose to engage with the piece.

Am I really going to have to dance?
Yes you will have to dance. That is kinda the point of the piece. To ask and allow people an opportunity to fully reconnect to their bodies through music and dance is partially what is so profound about experiencing the show. It is completely democratic and non-judgemental. No one is put on the spot or is made to do anything they don't want.

Can't I just sit there and watch?
Absolutely, but now why would you want to do that? It would be like going to a friends amazing dinner party and opting not to eat or have a drink. Sure you would still have some great conversations, but you will probably leave feeling a bit hungry afterwards.


We do have one OPTIONAL ELIMINATION at the top of the show right after the very first FREE DANCE where anyone can sit and watch if they don't feel like dancing. Specifically for those poor people who got dragged to the show by a friend and had no idea what they were getting into. However, our experience has been once someone experiences the FREE DANCE and their endorphins start kicking in no one wants to sit and watch.

Is there any connection between the original period of the dance marathon and now?

We initially did a bunch of research about dance marathon in north america and have used the original dance marathons as a template for our show. The embedded performers, the feelings of competition, the rest periods, guest celebrities and derby races to name a few. There were also a number of historical parallels between the world economy during the depression and the current housing and financial crisis in North America. Most of that was unintentional when we set out to create the piece, but began discovering numerous parallels the more research we did into the dance marathon phenomena during the depression.

there seems to be a vogue for nostalgia at the moment...

We were very, very conscious not to make this piece nostalgic. That didn't interest us at all. We want it to be a contemporary look at culture. Nostalgia sort of lets the audience of the hook. That was then and this is now sort of thing. Not interesting to us. This show is about being human and being alive NOW. There is more of an affinity for current Reality Television shows and competitions like American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance.



Can we any expect any surprises -say guests?

Absolutely. We have a different Schedule Guest Celebrity for each performance. Spotlights from other Dancers, musicians and comedians performing in and around the Fringe Festival.

And who knows what Unexpected Guest may show up.

The King of The Stabbed Up Nation

If theatre has a purpose beyond entertainment – which is increasingly a by-word for freak show or sentimental exploitation of ambition – it can engage with political and social issues. My own tastes prefer something more intimate and personal: dance is always good for an abstract take on emotions or ideas, and explicitly “issue-based” drama is all too frequently blunt. Nevertheless, the strong Caledonian tradition of realism, leading back to the recently revived Men Should Weep and through Trainspotting, is still healthy.

Scottish theatre has reacted energetically to the political shifts of recent years: ironically, two of the strongest responses have come from plays that have roots in the past. Wee Andy, a short play that emerged from the Greek-style tragedy of Fleeto and King of Scotland, re-engineered from a previous Fringe success, and now with added celebrity satirist Jonathan Watson, both grapple with the hard realities of financial and social depravation.

While Fleeto has a rough-hewn poetry, Wee Andy is a savage blast of frustration. The victimised hero hardly speaks, and much of the script consists of angry lectures, political diatribes and coarse social analysis: author Paddy Cuneen is clearly frustrated by the lack of political will to clean up knife crime and the society that perpetuates it. A grim piece of gritty realism, it is a direct, simple polemic.

Wee Andy is disappointingly dogmatic: there are few gradations of good and evil, and Cuneen's rage fails to suggest a solution, beyond perpetuating a vigilante cycle. Yet this immediacy might be the point: without a clear statement of disgust, can the horror of a slashed up, fucked up generation really be expressed?

The King of Scotland dwells in no less a deprived estate, but the hero’s madness slips into a magic realist world of talking dogs and flying taxis. Watson is confident in the monologue: he lends the descent into an insanity a friendly familiarity, and failed romance and social exclusion  combine to describe a life lived without purpose and false hope. If the final delusion of royalty is a hackneyed stereotype  - madness is rarely recognisable once it reaches the stage as anything more than a blunt metaphor – The King of Scotland takes a wry glance at Scotland’s self-image and the empty rhetoric of social improvement.

Although there is a clear reason why this theatrical vision of madness is unhelpful – it hardly helps dispel the stigma of mental ill-health if a vague, and amusing, craziness is substituted for the representation of psychological sickness – it allows The King of Scotland to poke at the underlying delusions beneath the romantic ideals of political positivity. Without a clear villain, The King pictures a disintegrating society, sugar-coating the message through humour. And by playing in a more abstract territory, it asks broader questions about how the decline of an entire class has been connived at by a political class more interested in the talk than the walk.