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sticking to a winning formula, and winning this formula certainly is: the luggage-based set pieces alone are so delightfully innovative that some spark spontaneous applause when deployed. Surely, though, innovation of this calibre could be put to better use than reliving past successes. (Matt Boothman) ■ The Zoo, 662 6892, until 27 Aug (not 24), 6pm, £8 (£6). UP’N’UNDER Enjoyable revival of John Godber’s lively romp ●●●●●
LORCA IS DEAD A lament in the key of surrealism ●●●●●
Belt Up’s eulogy for Federico Garcia Lorca is anything but a stately affair. So much happens, and continues happening, all at once, in such a short space of time, that it’s impossible to pay attention to it all, and frequently difficult to know what is too significant to ignore; yet far from appearing frenetic, the action is suffused with a melancholy, restless unease. Someone has, after all, died. While the nucleus of the surrealist movement – André Breton, Paul
Éluard, Antonin Artaud, Louis Aragon, René Magritte and others – discuss important matters in the wardrobe, Salvador Dalí sits at Breton’s desk, distracting a privileged portion of the audience with a spoon strapped to a boule: a surrealist sculpture. This is the play in microcosm.
The surrealists re-enact Lorca’s life story, passing him like a conch among themselves and the odd audience member, touching on everything from his sexuality to his contribution to surrealism to his eventual execution by Franco’s firing squad.
Meanwhile, political, philosophical and personal differences are
weakening the brotherly bonds between the post-Lorca surrealists. Simultaneously, Salvador Dalí is attempting to rewrite the history of the movement with himself at its centre, with help from Gala Éluard and a time machine constructed by Antonin Artaud. The play’s portrayal of ‘the divine Dalí’ is its greatest achievement: somehow both reverent idolisation and total character assassination. The pace drops more than once when two plot threads intersect and the ensemble can’t change direction fast enough, and by the end threads that were pivotal early on are being tied off with single throwaway lines of exposition. It may well be fruitless to criticise the plot of a surreal play about surrealists staging a surreal play about a surrealist, but Lorca is Dead is demonstrably overstuffed. (Matt Boothman) ■ C soco, 0845 260 1234, until 30 Aug (not 25), 7pm, £9.50–£11.50 (£8.50–£10.50).
THE VANISHING HORIZON Idle Motion stick to their winning formula ●●●●●
Did someone accuse Idle Motion of being one-hit wonders? Because, as if in response to such an accusation, the company has recreated the success of its 2009 smash Borges and I with near-scientific precision. Recreated, that is, as opposed to surpassed. Make no mistake, The Vanishing Horizon is still one of the most compelling shows you’re likely to see at this year’s Fringe: an exquisite weaving-together of music, text, movement and design in which each element supports and bolsters every other. But the pattern of the weave
remains exactly the same as for Borges and I: suitcases replace books, pioneering aviatrixes replace Jorge Luis Borges and the heartache of an absent parent replaces that of impending sight loss – but the proportions remain comfortably unchanged. Perhaps there’s nothing wrong with
Yorkshire playwright John Godber’s crowd-pleaser is celebrated with a new production marking its 25th anniversary, directed by the author himself and starring celebrity-turned- actress Abi Titmuss. It’s the story of five disillusioned working class lads – and one plucky lass – who are united by their love of rugby and who team- up to take on the top side of the county which is run by a ruthless wealthy businessman. Written in the mid-1980s, it also looks at the dark days of Margaret Thatcher’s reign of terror, her war on the north of England and the culture of greed she ushered in. Today, the humour feels a bit dated
and the plot somewhat familiar, not least because it’s been reworked in numerous films since, most notably The Full Monty. Nevertheless, Godber’s play’s got heart, and it’s a lively romp that doesn’t outstay its welcome. The cast are good, too, particularly William Ilkley and Robert Angell, both of whom are veteran alumni of Godber’s Hull Truck Theatre Company. And Titmuss acquits herself well enough in a role that requires a few funny cod-Shakespearian speeches. (Miles Fielder) ■ Assembly Rooms, 623 3030, until 30 Aug, 5.25pm, £17.50–19.50 (£15.50–17.50).
EMMA THOMPSON PRESENTS FAIR TRADE Verbatim ad nauseam ●●●●●
This is, perhaps, not the place to go into the ethics of celebrities lending their names to worthy causes in the shape of theatre productions identifying social ills, but Emma Thompson might at least have chosen more carefully. This piece, taken from the verbatim
testimonies of two women, Samai and Elena, who were tricked into coming to Britain only to be sold into prostitution, does little justice to their
no doubt harrowing stories. Lotte Wakeham’s production adds such hokey devices as a mock-pantomime scene to proceedings, to illustrate, you assume, the naivety of the girls. Although the piece touches on the
substantive issue – the laxness, corruption or lack of resources among the officials meant to police these problems – it is too bogged down in the accounts of the East European and African women concerned to fully explore these mechanics, portraying this appalling phenomenon as unresolvable, without even considering the idea that, with the right effort and political will, it could be combatted. (Steve Cramer) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550), until 30 Aug (not 23), 3.30pm, £9–£10 (£7.50–£9).
LIKE YOU WERE BEFORE Home movies and movies about home ●●●●●
Walking in off a dark, rainy Marchmont street to the dimly-lit cinematic wonderland of Alphabet Video after hours, the stage is already set for cosy personal revelation. Debbie Pearson, Canadian emigrée, and former Alphabet employee-turned-playwright faces the audience from behind the counter, as, with the candour of a close friend confiding intimacies, she talks us through a time and life she’s left behind. Pearson left Toronto in 2005,
keeping a video record of her last couple of days; loving close-ups of her best friends; her parents, with whom she’d fought the night before, in uncomfortable silence over coffee in the airport. As the video plays out (alongside another, silent installation filmed from a train window, travelling backwards), Pearson stops it occasionally to point out details, help us crack the codes of friendship; and whenever her own voice comes on the speakers she talks along with it, note perfect but at a remove, trying in vain to insert herself back into the past. As a whole, this is a beautiful, accomplished, bittersweet and philosophical work on love, loss and memory. (Kirstin Innes) ■ Alphabet Video, as part of Forest Fringe, www.forestfringe.co.uk, until 21 Aug, 10.30pm, free.
19–26 Aug 2010 THE LIST 65