Fest
Through the
halls and wards of mental institutions shuffle
those for whom the outside world exists only in
memories – in snippets of film or music, and in the
stories they tell of their lives, before those
lives became defined by institutional routine. So
the big band tunes of Glenn Miller recall the
destruction and sexual license of the 1940s, a faux
permissiveness which the three patients either
entered into, or were violently forced into, and
for which their sentences in the Idiot Colony were
commuted. Now, the garish pop tunes of Rick Astley
indicate the passage of wasted time. As the play
culminates with the brutal “cure” (a lobotomy, one
suspects) of one of the patients, these musical
markers overlap and collapse into each other in an
increasingly discordant cacophony. Sentences in The
Idiot Colony cannot be measured in time, but in
lives.
To say these patients shuffle, however, is a little misleading since where this production excels is in its refusal to treat these internees as little more than wasted case studies. These three patients, Jo, Mary & Victoria, dance and skip their way through several well-choreographed set pieces. Taking place in their one refuge from the oppressive routine, the hair salon, the actors are able to demonstrate clearly that these three do indeed have unique personalities which the institution may conceal, but may not remove – unless it does so on the operating table. The feisty enactment of a cinema sex scene is both extremely funny and, in recollection, utterly tragic.
Inventively staged by these three actresses, their use of props hidden in pockets, hair and, in one instance, a mouth, lends a beautifully dreamlike quality to the production. On occasion this strays into territory which feels overly surreal, but perhaps that is the point. Here is an unreal world simmering with a violence which, for thousands of Colony residents, proved brutally real.
By Evan Beswick, 10th August 2008
To say these patients shuffle, however, is a little misleading since where this production excels is in its refusal to treat these internees as little more than wasted case studies. These three patients, Jo, Mary & Victoria, dance and skip their way through several well-choreographed set pieces. Taking place in their one refuge from the oppressive routine, the hair salon, the actors are able to demonstrate clearly that these three do indeed have unique personalities which the institution may conceal, but may not remove – unless it does so on the operating table. The feisty enactment of a cinema sex scene is both extremely funny and, in recollection, utterly tragic.
Inventively staged by these three actresses, their use of props hidden in pockets, hair and, in one instance, a mouth, lends a beautifully dreamlike quality to the production. On occasion this strays into territory which feels overly surreal, but perhaps that is the point. Here is an unreal world simmering with a violence which, for thousands of Colony residents, proved brutally real.
By Evan Beswick, 10th August 2008