Black and Blue
BAC, London

Amy Matthews

'I have never been good at keeping company' sings a psychopathic mass murderer to the corpse of one of his victims during a macabre 'tea party' for the dead. One of few 'lighter' moments in Black and Blue, a production that is almost a non-stop assault on the senses, the minds, and the consciences of the audience.

The scene is initially set with a series of tableaux, staged with flashes of light capturing the actors in various forms and poses, quickly snapping back to black and leaving the disturbing images of passion and violence seared onto the back of your retinas. As with labour contractions, the frequency of being shocked increases throughout the evening, and by the end, one is left in a state of trance-like bewilderment by the numerous atrocities enacted on stage.

The subject matter of Black and Blue is the confusing world of gay internet sex - virtual and real. The technology of the media is echoed by projections on a screen placed at the front of the stage, projections of harmless internet conversations, of haunted faces, of consensual sex, of perverted violence. For the audience the screen is both a form of protection from the action, and another level of visual input - it shields us as well as portraying the brutal and often shocking events and ideas through a blurred, half-dream-like lens. The web-based world is used to explore the desire to connect, to satisfy hungers, to feel and see ourselves through the presence of another, and the pseudo comfort which this virtual reality can provide.

The character of Dennis Nielsen serves as a symbol and a vessel for exploring the disturbing notion of what may lurk inside all of us, rather than as a demonised caricature of a killer. He is the necessary contrast to the touching innocence of the meeting between the two main characters, the fly in the ointment of potential happiness, the reminder of base human nature.

It is this examination of human nature that is perhaps the most shocking thing about the production - the audience is made to question our own nature as well as those of the characters. Why are we watching? Are we condoning these things by accepting their portrayal? Are we any different from the internet voyeurs we see on the screen before us?

The ambiguous lines between what is deemed acceptable and unacceptable, or perhaps right and wrong, is where the main tension lies. Fetishism is set up against perversity, the agony of love and loss is contrasted with inflicting physical pain, and most uncomfortably, we are forced to consider the difference between sexual violence between two consenting adults, and unsolicited criminal actions leading from sex to death.

And all this is conveyed through song - it is an opera, entirely sung-through by evidently professional and experienced singers. Indeed, it is the strength of the singing in such a small theatrical space that increases the power of the production further, the cast posessing gloriously effortless voices, blending well and carrying the sometimes erratic vocal lines convincingly. I came away with the voices ringing in my head, as well as the visual images burned into my mind. As competent and effective as the music is (a fusion of lyrical twentieth-century opera and minimalism, with electronic dance beats as appropriate), it is not the most interesting thing about this production, but it excels in matching the violence onstage with its relentless building rhythms.

It is hard to know how to recommend Black and Blue, though recommend it I would. It is certainly deeply shocking, but with that natural response to the subject matter comes an incredible depth of effect from the rest of the production - the raw quality of the voices, the different levels of visual and theatrical engagement. It is a production that makes you feel right to the core, and it is worth every minute of unease or discomfort to experience the original power of this contemporary opera.

Till 23 May 2004.