Andy Field
A weird poetry of ‘mans’ and ‘babes’ and ‘fucks’
This is theatre that nods less towards the radicalism of the 1960s and more towards the amphitheatres of a much, much earlier time – a fact which is brilliantly alluded to in the final monologue.
Slow, careful circles
This delicate half-hour long show exists in this gentle rhythm of difference, mimicry and separation; in the subtle interplay of power between these two sensitive performers.
Beautifully delicate creatures
More than any of its startling imagery, or its sometimes laboured humour, what makes this show so fascinating is Soehnle’s presence as a lone puppeteer. He is magician in chief, moving from puppet to puppet with a slow delicacy that sets the rhythm for the show as much as Johannes Frisch & Stefan Mertin’s brilliant music.
Disco collages
Three figures, all magnificently weird, gyrating with startling awkwardness across an overcrowded stage like the best nightclub come cabaret show you’ve never been to in the hidden basement of an anarchist vodka bar somewhere in the former Soviet Union.
Tough time, nice time
Two lithe, well-groomed middle-aged men sit naked in a sleek white bath, whispy spa vapours drifting across the blackness all around them. As the lights rise and fall in delicate, subtle patterns the two men each nurse a single Heineken, sweat slowly glazing their bodies as they wriggle and stretch in their luxurious confinement. They babble flippantly, incessantly, in soft German accents. Literally nothing else happens.
Being Harold Pinter
In the run-up to this production all the attention has been focussed on its context rather than its content. Here is a company, Belarus Free Theatre, banned in their own country, frequently imprisoned, performing shows in front rooms and secret locations; uniting political dissidents and private citizens in their opposition to an oppressive political regime.
Dido, Queen of Carthage
Rarely have I left a piece of theatre so utterly disappointed as I was by this crushingly mediocre production, a laboured and clichéd Renaissance restaging drowning in the borrowed robes of a form it superficially appropriates and barely understands.
Dead Wedding
There is a haunting absence of humanity in this disturbing little world. The smooth, near-perfect manipulation of the puppets is a striking contrast to the halting, juddery movement of their creations – crawling in stylised bursts across their tattered landscape.
Paso Doble
For me this is what the Mime festival is all about. A confrontation with something startling and barely explicable (I have undoubtedly failed here). An absurd and hugely enjoyable spectacle that does not announce its meaning like a political address, but haunts you with a series of mesmerising movements and images and ideas.
God in Ruins
As I took my seat in the characterless and sanitised Soho Theatre auditorium, I was in the strange position of knowing more about the process that went into making this show than the show itself. Tales had been aired extensively in preview pieces about 19 painful weeks of devising with a cast of male RSC actors who happened to find themselves between Shakespeares.
