Paper Cinema' Odyssey

When Paper Cinema presented an early iteration of The Odyssey at Summerhall during the Edinburgh Fringe, it was already obvious that here was a work that could address all ages without sacrificing the mythical depth at the heart of Homer's epic. Being one of the earliest examples of literature, The Odyssey defined the Hero's Journey, the narrative identified by Joseph Campbell and used as a template for far too much contemporary Hollywood drama but also presents a moving romance between the exotic tales of adventure. 

As Troy so comprehensively demonstrated, the ancient myths don't always translate into modern idiom: and, as Daisy Bowie-Sell points out in her review, the multiple locations of Odysseus' wanderings don't make for easy staging. Unlike the committee who wrecked The Iliad for Troy, part of Paper Cinema's genius is to use the structure of the original epic poem, updating details but remaining true to the different episodes. Beginning with the anxiety of Odysseus' son - missing his father and angered by the attentions his mother is receiving from competing, greedy suitors, he sets off on a mission to find out what has happened - it neither flinches from the uncompromising brutality of the finale nor forgets that there is a love story driving the action.

Paper Cinema's approach is to project a series of static illustrations, onto a screen above the artists, overlaying each scene with new images. The live music adds to the atmosphere and illustrates the illustrations, but also adds the tension of a live performance: cinema is converted into a process that is worked out in front of the audience, and the sterility of film is elevated into a visceral immediacy.

For The Odyssey, Nicholas Rawling and his team concentrate on simple, black and white images, familiar in style from children's books and using signifiers - the beard for an older man, an energetic enthusiasm for the younger - to ensure that the plot is clearly presented. More metaphorical images - the suitors as wolves - echo Homer's own signature use of simile and draw out the themes of predatory danger, dignity and the different sorts of love.

Far from simply projecting images, Paper Cinema use effects on the screen, sometimes narrowing the focus, moving characters around or just obscuring them with a hand. Deconstructing the mechanics of projection - the team are visible throughout, and watching Rawlings or Irena Stratieva make the images can be as fascinating as the on-screen action - they replace the veneer of film with a rougher edge. Even in this, they are welcoming, cunningly disguising their skill beneath the sort of friendly relaxation often found in work for young people. 

Both of Homer's epic poems have something of the quality of a compilation: in The Iliad, there is the inclusion of a catalogue of ships, which doesn't add much to the drama and sits uneasily within the overall arc of Achilles' rage and redemption; The Odyssey can read like a collection of sailors' lies about distant land. Perhaps this is due to the oral tradition that preceded the actual writing of the myths, but Homer's sophisticated use of point of view (many of Odysseus' tales are told by him, casting such doubt on their veracity that Latin poet Ovid would answer that they were excuses for an extended spot of sex tourism), and changes in emphasis - going at one point from the harsh murder of slaves to an erotic reunion - are suitable for Paper Cinema's manipulation of their simple materials.

The real genius of Paper Cinema is to create a genuine all-ages show. Unlike pantomime, which lurches between the childish and the crude, there are no asides to adults but the same scene - say the trip to the underworld, or the beautiful last scene set on the palace roof against the stars - can be read differently by adults and children in different ways. For children, it's a lovely and exciting story: for adults, it grapples with the eternal themes that Homer so elegantly stated - the battle between the need for adventure and home.

• Traverse Wednesday 6 February
• Lochgelly Centre Friday 8 February

Paper Theatre: The Movie (1)

Ah, sweet memories of teaching. I am up in front of a class, weaving my way through the underworld with Aeneas and trying to explain how this journey is not so much an elaborate reconstruction of the land of the dead but an example of the hero's descent.

"Each of the characters that Aeneas encounters represents an aspect of his self," I deadpan. The room is as silent as the banks of the Styx - that is, I can hear ghostly groans despite the stifling atmosphere. "When Dido confronts the Trojan, she is really a manifestation of his sexual desire, and another thing that he must overcome on his path towards self-realisation."

I ignore the first question - the perennial favourite. "Is this going to be in the exam?" I am waiting for the inevitable second.

"How do you know that Virgil intended this?"

I shuffle my notes. I have the answer to this one. "You don't, and there is no way to find out. In fact, that's irrelevant. Mythology is a language, and it has its own meanings that the author cannot understand. Words and symbols combine themselves in such a way that the intention of Virgil, or Vile, is no longer important. It's not a question of intention: it's about whether you can justify your interpretation. Try to remember that all art is a mirror and all we find within is our myriad selves..."



It's like this as I try to research the history of visual theatre. I'm going through the history of various puppetry traditions, entering random juxtapositions on Google, linking up ideas and specific companies that are going to appear at manipulate. I've read enough Foucault (specifically, the beginner's guide) to know that this sort of research, seeking out origins, is part of a dishonest attempt to create a lineal version of history and, frankly, Paper Theatre has very little to do with Paper Cinema.

However, this line of inquiry, this critical version of the hero's descent (we could call wikipedia the river Styx and the obol has been replaced by the search engine), began with a survey of manipulate's programme. There are two shows this year that involve paper: the previously mentioned Paper Cinema, who are bringing their Odyssey and Yael Rasooly's Paper Cut. Remembering the Jesuit principle of "starting where you are," I typed in "Paper Theatre."

It turns out that Robert Louis Stevenson wrote an essay about Paper Theatre in 1884. Even then, he was being nostalgic. The boom in paper theatre, also known as Toy Theatre, had been a century earlier.  Then, after reading further, I remembered that we'd had one of these when I was a kid.

Paper Theatre was a chance for all the family to build their own version of a theatre and stage a miniature production. They were sold as cut-out-and-build kits, and contained everything needed to recreate that magnificent version of Hamlet that was wowing the cheap seats. And like most things that involved DIY, imagination and rational thought, Paper Theatre was wiped out when TV arrived.

It did have a revival though.

The connection between Paper Theatre and Paper Cinema might be an accident of language. However, I can see an aesthetic continuity - probably a consequence of the material being used. Paper Cinema use illustrations to mimic the cinematic process in the same way that Paper Theatre imitated the stage: and one of the reasons that Paper Theatre worked so well in the nineteenth century was that performance was in one of its periodic fascinations with spectacle. There's a shared sense in Paper Theatre and Cinema of using simple techniques (shoving about tiny figures and drawing respectively) to reflect an art form that thrives on scale and grandeur.

Despite the high level of skill displayed in The Odyssey, it consciously reveals the working process: the artists are visible on stage, the images appear as they are drawn: having had a go on a Paper Theatre, there's no way to avoid a similar deconstruction of the mechanics. Fingers appear to move Hamlet out of the way, all of the characters have the same voice... there was usually a moment when the entire thing fell down as I brushed it with my arms.

Paper Cinema don't do that: they are professionals. But the format they use avoids the slick. Paper seems to encourage a more intimate puppetry, a consciousness of the two dimensional nature of the art.

I suppose Foucault is right - I'll have to ask Paper Cinema whether this was an influence on them - and it's unlikely that the lineal evolution of Paper Theatre leads to Paper Cinema, or Rasooly's fantasy of a lonely secretary. Instead, it's possible that these three different uses of paper reveal a shared aesthetic, one defined by the material. I may not be ready for that full definition of visual theatre yet, but perhaps there is a clue in the way that it allows the fabric of a production to help clarify the meaning and atmosphere.