The
Herald
Breaking
down in public
How sensitive should theatre be to real-life taboos without becoming didactic or resorting to shock or sensory overload? In the case of The Idiot Colony, an impressionistic depiction of three women's incarceration in a mental hospital, attention-seeking tactics would cheapen a delicate work of damaged poetry and slow-moving grace.
This debut show by the RedCape Theatre company starts with a trio of women lined up in a row, their hair covering their faces like they're escapees from a Japanese horror flick. When they come out from under their fringes, we're allowed a glimpse inside their minds from the safety of the residential hair salon which provides sanctuary of sorts. One woman works through the styles of movie femmes fatales and remembers how she had her first orgasm in the cinema. Another recalls a far more brutal sexual awakening. Then, beyond the heightened sexualisation, there's the silent girl who sheds leaves from her hair and spits out jewelled pebbles.
Devised by the company and based on first-hand accounts, such material in less capable hands could have ended up a shrill piece of madwoman-in-the-attic realism. RedCape, though, are more interested in exploring the subtle physical nuances that make up the women's everyday rituals. Under the guidance of director Andrew Dawson, whose Herald Angel-winning Absence and Presence tapped into the intimacies of loss a couple of years ago, the result is beautifully accomplished.
Its precision and overriding poignancy, however, are leavened by the comforts of 1980s pop and a stab at the Birdie Dance before sheer terror takes hold. As played by Claire Coache, Cassie Friend and Rebecca Loukes, the women present some devastatingly effective stage pictures, made even more startling by their horrifying simplicity. One is a drowning, the other a lobotomy. As harrowing as they are, both images point to some kind of release in a remarkable debut that promises much, however heart-rending the subject matter.
By Neil Cooper, 7th August 2008
How sensitive should theatre be to real-life taboos without becoming didactic or resorting to shock or sensory overload? In the case of The Idiot Colony, an impressionistic depiction of three women's incarceration in a mental hospital, attention-seeking tactics would cheapen a delicate work of damaged poetry and slow-moving grace.
This debut show by the RedCape Theatre company starts with a trio of women lined up in a row, their hair covering their faces like they're escapees from a Japanese horror flick. When they come out from under their fringes, we're allowed a glimpse inside their minds from the safety of the residential hair salon which provides sanctuary of sorts. One woman works through the styles of movie femmes fatales and remembers how she had her first orgasm in the cinema. Another recalls a far more brutal sexual awakening. Then, beyond the heightened sexualisation, there's the silent girl who sheds leaves from her hair and spits out jewelled pebbles.
Devised by the company and based on first-hand accounts, such material in less capable hands could have ended up a shrill piece of madwoman-in-the-attic realism. RedCape, though, are more interested in exploring the subtle physical nuances that make up the women's everyday rituals. Under the guidance of director Andrew Dawson, whose Herald Angel-winning Absence and Presence tapped into the intimacies of loss a couple of years ago, the result is beautifully accomplished.
Its precision and overriding poignancy, however, are leavened by the comforts of 1980s pop and a stab at the Birdie Dance before sheer terror takes hold. As played by Claire Coache, Cassie Friend and Rebecca Loukes, the women present some devastatingly effective stage pictures, made even more startling by their horrifying simplicity. One is a drowning, the other a lobotomy. As harrowing as they are, both images point to some kind of release in a remarkable debut that promises much, however heart-rending the subject matter.
By Neil Cooper, 7th August 2008