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flop-culture · 5 years

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(Not-So) Secret Theatre, Hong Kong

Sight, specified. An ambitious touring production which struggles to lead its audience anywhere besides the bar.

Pass the fava beans and a nice chianti. I have a lot of thoughts.

Heralded by the media as “Silence of The Lambs meets Black Mirror”, Secret Theatre Project’s latest offering of interactive site-specific performance is a well-meaning, well acted, yet somewhat sporadic marriage of horror, history, and courtroom shenanigans.

It is apparent that this show is not site specific- it is site dependent. It depends upon its setting to inform our belief of the story and its characters, and unfortunately STP’s choice was not the best fit.

Tai Kwun, the refurbished former Victoria Prison, may seem like a thematically apt location for the “Trial of the Century”. Certainly, an ex-courtroom housed STP’s London iteration of the production back in early 2019, which was met with due praise.

However, the repeated mention of Tai Kwun on the event’s ticketing page begs the question: why is it called a “secret location” when they tell you not only the exact location, but the exact restaurant at which the pre-theatre dinner will be hosted?

The fact that little is done in the way of transformation of the space itself provides further disappointment. Anyone who knows this city knows that Tai Kwun now functions as a popular museum, and the placards signposting the walls detract from the authenticity of the performance.

Despite the strengths of the actors, a further unfortunate consequence of this performance site was the physical distance between the prison blocks and barracks themselves. The meandering walks to and from each of them, during which people either straggled behind or simply wandered too far ahead, effectively spliced the experience up into somewhat hackneyed, disparate chunks. A lot of of participants missed important bits out of the prelude, which was recounted to us as we crossed a busy courtyard, and it was difficult to squeeze everyone into the cramped scenes to “inspect” evidence or even listen to the Detective explain the scene at all. Perhaps this could have been remedied if audience members- or Jury Members, as it were- had been given a case file to pore over and discuss during dinner?

As much as I enjoyed the gorgeous Thai meal, this element felt, again, at odds to the show itself. Housed in a different building to the rest of the action, the only factor which reminds the participant of their theatrical duties is a single appearance by director Richard Crawford as the charismatic television host, Rip Love, whose true crime channel Trial TV shall be televising the the murder trial live on air.

This is an attempt to incorporate an existential moral panic edge circa-Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror, presenting humanity’s intrinsic obsession with entertainment technology as its ultimate downfall. It falls flat, however, as there is only one member of “crew” visible, and they seem to be holding one very fake camera.

More could have been done to smooth over this incongruity, working to properly align the dinner and theatre elements- maybe by bringing more actors into the dining space (perhaps to dine with or talk to the audience), or by presenting a short a scene in the restaurant to cement the tone of the show and introduce characters early on.

Speaking of characters, the direct invocation of Hannibal Lecter needs to be flagged. Has anyone sought copyright over this yet? From the emblematic mask on Lassiter’s face when you meet him in his cell to his dead ringer imitation of Anthony Hopkins’ version of the role, are these direct references to Dr Lecter harmless or do they piggyback off of the most well-known cannibal in literature as a sensationalist act of character theft? If the latter is so, surely this piece can be deemed simply Red Dragon fan fiction.

The high point of the evening comes at the crux of it all, when, after another lengthy break, the Jury is led into the “TV Studio” for the court proceedings and subsequent sentencing. Traverse staging works beautifully here, heightening the duality of surveillance whilst being surveyed by an audience- the one both in front of you as well as the at-home audience of Trial TV. Suitably confrontational and allowing for stellar acting across the board, a part of me wishes the whole show had taken place in this room and had just done away with the promenade element entirely.

To summarise, this year’s Secret Theatre Project is full of promise. From the talented actors to the meta-theatrics of Trial TV, it’s not to be said that there were no success stories of the night.

However, the many spatial risks taken by the director paired with an overly-wrought plot combine on shaky grounds which left many audience members scratching their heads, getting sidetracked, and mooching off to the free bar for another pint of wine. Three and a half hours is too long for any audience to stay engaged, especially when they are repeatedly brought back to reality by so many unavoidable consequences of being in a public, open space.

All walk and no stay makes Richard a predictable boy. It would be nice to see STP branch out further with more realistic expectations, both of itself and the locations they work with.

- Jasmine

#secret theatre project #hong kong #hong kong theatre #hk theatre review #theatre critique #traverse staging #promenade theatre #audience participation #hannibal lecter #black mirror #richard crawford #tai kwun #hk #STP #jasmine's rants #jasmine gould wilson

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flop-culture · 6 years

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Tracey Emin’s Bed, and why I wish she’d just stay in it.

During the summer of 2017, I had the greatest displeasure of finally beholding Tracey Emin’s much acclaimed bed, creatively entitled My Bed.

Cheers, Trace- I was confused as to its ownership for a moment.

I’d heard of this piece during my second year at University. I remember sitting aghast in my Performance Studies class as the lecturer explained the concept behind Emin’s My Bed, detailing the bits of filth and debris and dirt which are strewn across and around it like putrefying offerings encircling a post-apocalyptic throne.

I was told it is a confessional piece; an excavation of what it means to be a woman. Emin here endeavours to bring all of the collective female’s icky private problems (namely: periods, poor personal hygiene, careless sex with sub standard condoms, and moderate alcoholism) out of the shadows and into public scrutiny.

When I walked around her bed, now assembled in all its yellowed glory in a starkly lit exhibition room at the Tate Gallery, Liverpool, I felt the welcoming tides of a particularly acerbic loathing start to bubble in my stomach.

My god, I hated that bed more than I’d ever dreamt I would, and it was glorious.

Here is the ultimate display of self-indulgence in contemporary art. First displayed in the late 90s, Emin’s My Bed is said to have “shocked the art world” with its “relatability”. Sadly, the only relatability I see here is to that of a rubbish tip. The piece has been dismantled and reassembled countless times in countless galleries, and to what effect? As the years go by and the condom’s slick sheen dulls alongside its shock factor, what we have here is not the harrowing excavation of a broken woman’s external vs internal psyche, but rather a miserable mumifcation of what art used to be.

Perhaps once upon a time, this piece was genuinely important. Perhaps it really did perform its cathartic mission. I’m not a monster- I know Emin created this for a reason, and I hope this very public display of emotion has worked out for her. However, now as we pass from 2017 to 2018, Emin’s musty mangled bed nears its 20th birthday. That is 20 years in which we have experienced a boom in digital art, street art, spoken word art. We’ve witnessed multiple Presidencies in the States and multiple Prime Ministers passing through 10 Downing Street. We’ve seen wars raging, countries falling apart, countries coming together, global warming, deforestation, animal life extinction, antibiotic resistance, superbugs, medical epidemics, dictators, revolutions, life, death, love, hate.

The world is a very different place now than it was in 1999- culturally, socially, and politically.

Perhaps Emin’s gratuitous (and supposedly “honest”) art installation piece has reached a point of futility.

Perhaps it’s time to put the dated “scandals” of these late-90s sensitivities to bed once and for all. This messy caricature has dominated vital space in major galleries nationwide- let’s make room for modern works which are less yawn-provoking and more thought provoking.

#tracey emin #tracey emin my bed #tracey emin's bed #the tate #contemporary art #art critique #art #2017 #the tate britain #the tate modern #the tate gallery #liverpool #albert dock #flop-culture

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flop-culture · 7 years

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introduction- disappreciating the arts, and why it’s ok

“So Jasmine,” you might ask, “If you respect and understand the necessity of myriad artistic practices and why they might be important across our cultural landscape, why do you enjoy complaining about them so much?”

The answer to this is simple: appreciating the meaning which the artist/work of art/TV show/movie is trying to convey is not the same as liking it.

For example, the fact that I can see a loaf of bread in Tesco and understand with utmost conviction that it is a) a loaf of Hovis 50/50 bread, and b) costs £1, does not mean I need to buy it, like it, or in any way support its existence.

What if have a gluten intolerance? What if I simply dislike bread? The sheer fact that I know what it is, or that my teacher adores this particular brand of 50/50 bread, is not conducive to my enjoyment of it

I think today, students of drama become blinded by the desire to sound so intellectual, so forward-thinking, so gosh-darn cultured that their ability to judge the quality and efficacy of a work of art flies completely out the window. Somehow, the relationship between “understanding” and “appreciation” has been blurred inexorably in tandem to our judging of art, culture, and media storms. We enthusiastically back any performance piece which boasts the words “feminist” or “liberal” or “socialist” in their description, toting these terms as the hallmark of quality, viciously rejecting anything akin to a counterargument.

Somehow, being a drama student has become synonymous with agreeing with everything that the art world tells us.

In this blog, my goal is to fight back against the snooty, dull, holier-than-thou egotism of contemporary live art, performance art, television, cinema, and more. Show me something which Cultured Persons love, and I’ll tell you why it’s overrated to the highest order.

It’s nothing personal. Your art is probably just a melodramatic manifestation of deep psychological trauma, and I respect that-- but it doesn’t make it good.

And it doesn’t make it worthwhile of a place in the Tate.

But we’ll get to Tracy Emin later.

Love, kisses, and edgelord rage,

Jasmine GW xxxx

#selfhating drama kid #for real #blog #theatre blog #drama blog #performance art #live art #tracy emin #london #liverpool #BA Drama #BA English #pop culture #flop culture

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