Category: Large Theatres

Letters to Windsor House

Large Theatres, Uncategorized

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By Sh!t Theatre

This the very best kind of pick and mix entertainment. Someone else on stage doing the karaoke, social and political commentary that never seeks to preach and an open letterbox giving a candid view of life for those at the more vulnerable end of the renting crisis in London.

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Rebecca Biscuit and Louise Mothersole are Sh!t Theatre and this is their very personal experience of  renting a sh!t flat in Windsor House, Hackney, North London. They share this two bedroom council flat with their friend Ruth who plans to move out to a houseboat and with Reggie the cat. The cramped space includes a pigeon sh!t splattered balcony and a hallway which has been converted to a makeshift garden. They pay nearly £500 each per month but have no contract so have no real security to safely call this home, especially when their curiosity reveals they are actually renting a sublet council flat.

Curled up on a sh!tty sofa as the audience walk in these best friends chat, sprawl and break into song just as they probably do around their home. The set also includes a disco ball, a cheery cotton rug and a pile of cardboard boxes. A projection screen is on the wall behind them with front of stage their mike stands connected to a loop pedal and two red cardboard post boxes.

Everything happens on stage in an endearing way that seems both childishly haphazard and skilfully engineered to fill this hour to achieve maximum impact. Using photos and video they walk us out of their cramped home unto the streets of this N4 neighbourhood. There are noisy Romanian neighbours they do sonic battle with at 7am, there is the local chippy #hashtag Fish & Chips, and the sometimes very loud St Johns Deaf Centre. Windsor House is one of 4 regally named blocks of council flats behind which is The Finsbury Park Homeless Family Project. Images of this rundown and depressing area appear on screen accompanied by a slick voiceover selling the merits of the new kids on the block. Woodberry Park is the second new private development to sit on the foundations  of the old council estates now demolished. These new properties are not for local families but are glossy six figure luxury flats with gyms and 24 hour concierge facilities.

Becca and Louise film themselves viewing a home they are unlikely to ever own as they are part of Generation rent. This is a moment where they fantasise about cushions in a £925,000 apartment. Back in their flat where the thin walls allow them no illusions about each others personal habits there is an ever growing sense of desperation about their future and an ever growing mound of mail representing the past lives of previous tenants.

It is human nature to be curious and often to prevaricate. Sh!t Theatre do both very well. Thanks to a quaint legal loophole they can start opening the mail. Like all our Christmases together the letters reveal colourful hints of other lives lived in Windsor House. A kaleidoscope of song, dance and social media feeds reveal Rob Jecock the adult baby or grief stricken single father, Daisy Murray and her magazine loving dad and Saad Madras who gambles his way into debt with the Turkish mafia. They buy aspirational shirts from catalogues like The House of Bruar. They cheerfully stalk their old neighbours in attempts to help them though no one appears to be interested in supporting or reassuring them re their own rental rights. In their search they are irrepressible singing silly songs, switching accents and clambering over sofas to build cardboard houses. This could have been an unholy mess.

There is a very different energy present when they break up their search to don the anonymity of their red cardboard post boxes. Here they read each other heartfelt personal letters from the sanctity of the post box as confessional. It is these moments which highlight the social housing crisis in a way that transcends shocking statistics. Ordinary loving friends who are both petrified of change and desperate to embrace new opportunities. Windsor House is for now both a refuge and a prison.

Postscript:

Ruth moves to a houseboat.

Becca moves out after a row.

Louise still lives in Windsor House.

Friendship survives.

Sh!t Theatre continues to develop new work.

The shirts from House of Bruar cost £65 each and are sh!t quality according to Louise.

 

 

The Suppliant Women

Large Theatres

The Royal Exchange Theatre Manchester;

 

I was quite wary about seeing this production. I wanted to like it but quite frankly I was concerned that the linking of a 2500 year old Greek play and our current refugee crisis might end up seeming forced or rather too worthy. As The Lord Mayor of Manchester joins the choir of local volunteers to give the traditional thanksgiving I was intrigued by this piece of theatrical archaeology. The libation wine is poured slowly and evenly around Lizzie Clachan’s stark breezeblock stage;  then the choir  re enter with their suppliant branches forming a human boat sailing gracefully into Argos. Exquisite pure harmonies flood the space and I’m hooked.

Written by Aeschylus; this new version by David Grieg opened his first season as Artistic Director at The Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh. His intention to use theatre as a “democratic space” works well in a space like The Royal Exchange. Here the stage is often crowded but movement remains fluid and effective – perhaps a clever nod to how many countries can adapt successfully to accommodate refugees should they chose to.

The women sing in unison as they beseech King Pelagrus to heed their request for sanctuary reminding him that Argos is home to their ancestors Io who later sought sanctuary in Egypt and to Zeus; and reminding the audience that migration of people is central to our survival as a species. The local choir of 26 young women represent the 50 suppliant daughters of Danaos fleeing Egypt to avoid forced marriage to their 50 cousins. The central dilemma is “if we help we bring trouble if we don’t we invite shame”. This is a democracy so this King asks his people to decide the fate of these young women who have sung so passionately for their right to choose virginity over forced marriage. Sanctuary is granted but there will eventually be a heavy cost as the proprietary, prospective husbands sail into Argos.

This is a play about what do we do when we exercise choice. Are we selfish or altruistic; and either way is there always a price to pay? Beyond the issues of our stance on forced marriage or the refugee situation are other murkier issues that remind us of how complex the decision making process is. These are educated high born women of Egypt seeking asylum from forced marriage. They expect that asylum regardless of the risk to the citizens of Argos who face the fury of The Egyptians. They are shocked when the citizens suggest local marriages which would of course bring fresh blood and new wealth to the local community. It would seem that these steadfast virgins are somewhat disingenuous to the reality that in this life we rarely get something for nothing.

Director Ramin Gray ensures this production is bold and rhythmic and effective. The clever use of ancient instruments, staccato clapping and singing that beguiles, exults and wails laments invite the audience to start to breathe with the performance. Choreographer Sasha Milovic Davies and Movement Director Josephine Hepplewhite do an amazing job of ensuring that the very simple staging remains fluid and gloriously memorable. The human boat moves like it is on water and the simple use of the women’s scarves to form the bovine shape of Io is magical. Gemma May Rees as chorus leader soars vocally and is a luminous presence on stage as she leads the sisterhood of brightly clad suppliants.

It is however the chorus of local volunteers who are the living flesh of this performance. They are our teenage daughters or sisters or pupils clad like Greenham Common protesters or fans of The Levellers. I suspect their vigour and energy will leave a echo in this space long after the play moves on to another city; I’m sure Aeschylus would approve.