My love of the Crunch is well documented: the Mighty Boosh based a character on me
once. In fact, in that scene, when they talk about the Crunch, they meant my old Shimmy Skinny HQ in Dance Base. And now, the Crunch is back, and here are the shows full of apocalyptic goodness.
I was pretty disappointed in most of the Russian season - perhaps because I expected them all to serve up the same bleak sanctity evident in Derevo's Mefisto Waltz. However, the late night Lidia Kopina & Veronika Berashevich entry comes from the same school as Derevo, relying on only the body (and a honking saxophone battling an electronic soundscape to follow a human life from the first awkward steps to sexy times and fighting fits.
Settimana has a great deal in common with the Polish piece at Dance Base,
Lost in Details, encouraging a direct, visceral response to a series of choreographed sketches. Yet it has a stronger narrative - birth starts it all, death ends it, and the various stages of life are expressed with clarity. Jerky, uncomfortable movements gradually give way to more fluid passages, and dance, always at its most accessible when used to articulate the internal state, triumphs. The combination of raw music, provocative content (the war sequence looks like fun) and a demanding movement vocabulary, shaved of tricks and posturing, are perfect for a late night slot before sliding into troubled slumbers.
Assembly Roxy, 6 -27 August
Meanwhile, a last chance to see over at the French Institute. Sometimes cool is over-rated, but other times different versions of cool team up and have a three way.
Rock is based on an oral history of punk,
Please Kill Me, and has cool characters like Iggy Pop and Patti Smith wandering through the narrative, alongside abusive asses like Sid Vicious and Jim Morrison: it was made in France, so the performers - voice and cello - have that Gallic nonchalance that is the hallmark of Noveau Vague hip. Then it was originally made for Avignon Festival, lending it an avant-garde chic.
It might come on as frosty as Lou Reed in 1973, all shrugs and dismissive style, but
Rock is a dishevelled tribute to those who gave their lives in the name of art rock. Vincent Courtois reinvents the cello, playing up its melancholic tone before launching into brutal rock outs, while Pierre Baux regales with tales of too many drugs, too much ambition and, in some cases, too little smarts.
Courtois is transported by his own noise, leaving Baux to delve into the undergrowth, discovering the truth about Jim Morrison,
Howling like Ginsberg and translating a Velvet Underground number into a French, existential monologue on the nature of youthful passion. Intimate, intense: it has a holiday home in the Crunch.
French Institute, 3 -18 August
We are Chechens comes from the Polish invasion party that has taken up residence at Summerhall: a slice of verbatim theatre from the edge of human experience, the war between Russia and Chechnya. Director Marcin Brzozowski has previously shown an interest in those places where the so-called West and Islam are in conflict. Like
Rock, it goes to oral histories and focuses on individuals caught in circumstances beyond their control.
This time, the spectre is not drug use but civil conflict. Using testimony from both sides, it avoids drawing a broad political conclusion but emphasises the human cost. This is pretty common as a theatrical trope, but the approach of the cast - students from the Lodz film school, which seems to be the cradle for Poland's next generation of provocative artists - translate the horror into immediate and recognisable stories.
Summerhall, 6 -13 August
Even kids need the Crunch, and who better to introduce it than
Jeff Achtem? I caught
Swamp Juice down at Latitude and despite my fear of "all ages" shows, the 3D finale had me screaming in fear when the big claw reached out to catch the bird. As reviewed in The Skinny, this is a tale of puppets and nature red in tooth and claw, as Bunk tries to collect floral and fauna, only to be defeated by the power of avian cunning.
Swamp Juice gets the balance between humour and horror: Bunk is a slightly frightening character, like
Ken Campbell impersonating that bloke what got stung to death. His mania for collecting - mirrored by Achtem's mania for building odd little puppets, probably in his decrepit shed - makes him the terror of snails and birds. Yet justice is finally served, in a gentle, funny way.
Underbelly, 14 - 27 August
Any artist from Glasgow knows about the Crunch, and none more than Rob
Drummond. If the boy isn't
Wrestling - the show were he got it on in the squared circle with one of my ex-Latin pupils who is now a Scottish wrestling superstar - he's trying to shoot himself.
Bullet Catch is at the Traverse, and has Drummond recreating the titular magic trick.
Drummond is one of Scotland's brave young stars, adapting his role as author to the demands of his restless intelligence and desire to crack open new theatrical territory. By using performance itself as the foundation of the production, he exposes the mundane need for companionship and community, reflects on death and the way that the glorious surface of life can hide misery and doubt.
Traverse, 3 -26 August
All well and good, but here is the real Crunch. Today, I make six hours of radio. Hear the results
here.
The Institut Français’ Fringe bookings are tightly curated, concentrating on contemporary theatre styles from France but including pieces for children (Lapin Wants Ice Cream) as well as the more avant-garde choices.
