Beautiful Burnout.
It was my own fault. I'd somehow got it into my head that I was going to get a 5 star show. Fuelled by an incredibly enthusiastic review by an infrequent theatre going friend who loved it so much that he'll see it again down south.
He I think is the key there. It's a boys show. Better yet, a show for a boy that doesn't go to the theatre much and is consequently astounded that theatre can be like that. How condescending.
I say all that and I'd give it four stars in a heart beat. Four and a quarter if I was someone who dealt in decimal places. It's a collaboration - I'm sure you'll know - between Frantic Assembly whom I love and the National Theatre of Scotland whom I hold equally dear.
It's a joyous fusion of multimedia, a boxing ring, a gorgeous revolving stage with a pop-up fridge - and let's not forget the Black Watch effect theft when the boy pops out of the washing machine - and some stunning choreography. And a cracking soundtrack from Underworld. The story I found vaguely unsatisfying at some points - as Lyn Gardner says, you've seen it all before - but it's so spectacularly executed that you don't mind that at all.
It's just that, as Jeanette said, it wasn't Black Watch. But then they don't come along very often.
Skidaddle from that to the exceedingly chilly Spiegelgarden for (sad days indeed) a hot chocolate to warm us up as we slid increasingly quickly towards the outdoor heaters.
And then Smoke and Mirrors. Now this was a recommendation from a man who should've known what he was talking about. Let's perhaps just accept that his tastes might be different to mine.
This was a kind of baby La Clique. With less acts and more time with the front man - an eccentric and extraordinary and slightly punky Master of Ceremonies. There was an amazing magician. Three rather stupendous acrobats. A pretty girl who got thrown about and did some trapezey things. A rather superb tragic tap-dancing clown that made me want to cry. A bearded lady (yes, it's true). A rather fine band. And this punky front man who yowled and screeched and did soulful beautifully but mostly screeched his way through their set. Until a final tragic end of the line song delivered in a withered rabbit costume underneath a shower of rain in the dimming half light. Well, this was a kind of tragedy that my show-broken heart did not need in the dead of the cold last night of my Fringe night. But they weren't to know that.
So neither La Clique nor No Fit State Circus. But maybe I should stop seeking to recreate former glories. As what is done, is after all, done. Learn the lesson, child.
It was my own fault. I'd somehow got it into my head that I was going to get a 5 star show. Fuelled by an incredibly enthusiastic review by an infrequent theatre going friend who loved it so much that he'll see it again down south.
He I think is the key there. It's a boys show. Better yet, a show for a boy that doesn't go to the theatre much and is consequently astounded that theatre can be like that. How condescending.
I say all that and I'd give it four stars in a heart beat. Four and a quarter if I was someone who dealt in decimal places. It's a collaboration - I'm sure you'll know - between Frantic Assembly whom I love and the National Theatre of Scotland whom I hold equally dear.
It's a joyous fusion of multimedia, a boxing ring, a gorgeous revolving stage with a pop-up fridge - and let's not forget the Black Watch effect theft when the boy pops out of the washing machine - and some stunning choreography. And a cracking soundtrack from Underworld. The story I found vaguely unsatisfying at some points - as Lyn Gardner says, you've seen it all before - but it's so spectacularly executed that you don't mind that at all.
It's just that, as Jeanette said, it wasn't Black Watch. But then they don't come along very often.
Skidaddle from that to the exceedingly chilly Spiegelgarden for (sad days indeed) a hot chocolate to warm us up as we slid increasingly quickly towards the outdoor heaters.
And then Smoke and Mirrors. Now this was a recommendation from a man who should've known what he was talking about. Let's perhaps just accept that his tastes might be different to mine.
This was a kind of baby La Clique. With less acts and more time with the front man - an eccentric and extraordinary and slightly punky Master of Ceremonies. There was an amazing magician. Three rather stupendous acrobats. A pretty girl who got thrown about and did some trapezey things. A rather superb tragic tap-dancing clown that made me want to cry. A bearded lady (yes, it's true). A rather fine band. And this punky front man who yowled and screeched and did soulful beautifully but mostly screeched his way through their set. Until a final tragic end of the line song delivered in a withered rabbit costume underneath a shower of rain in the dimming half light. Well, this was a kind of tragedy that my show-broken heart did not need in the dead of the cold last night of my Fringe night. But they weren't to know that.
So neither La Clique nor No Fit State Circus. But maybe I should stop seeking to recreate former glories. As what is done, is after all, done. Learn the lesson, child.
posted by Claire at 8:34 am
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